Nothing More Beautiful
by Psamathe
Summary: Alex Drake died in a hospital bed... or did she?
1. Chapter 1

**"And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death" - Walt Whitman, ****Starting from Paumanok**

He watched her walk away, expecting her to turn around, to make one more passionate appeal. Gene knew he wouldn't be able to say no to her, not a second time.

Alex Drake didn't look back … his argument had been more persuasive than he'd thought and she walked through the door into the Railway Arms. There was a brief, brilliant flash of light and then she was gone. Gene frowned to himself for a moment, wondering what it meant. There had been no pyrotechnic display when Ray, Chris and Shaz had crossed the threshold. He looked down at the epaulette number she had placed in his hand.

"All alone. No one to care. Ah…Diddums,"

Gene turned towards Jim Keats. The man seemed unhinged, growling like an animal. He grabbed Keats, holding him in place for a second before shoving him away.

As he stood on the pavement, utterly alone, Gene Hunt had no choice but to forget that a woman called Alex Drake had ever walked into a pub called the Railway Arms.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Warmth, light, peace. The bittersweet knowledge that this well earned rest was her reward. Time meant nothing in this place. No pain, no tears… no dreams…

_"Mum! Mummy!"_

_"Get the child out of here!"_

Why then was Alex Drake having nightmares?Hearing voices… harsh distorted. A world outside the one she thought she knew.

_A single unforgiving note that never seemed to end, pulling at her, telling her that this place wasn't her home. This wasn't her time._

It made her want to scream.

_"Mummy!" _

_"She'll be alright, Scrap."_

Pain… searing … never ending. Alex couldn't move, couldn't speak. Her eyes refused to cry. She wanted to tell them that to leave her be. She didn't want to be saved.

The call was strong. Alex fought against it, not knowing, not understanding why this was happening. But, inevitably, she didn't have the strength to deny her daughter anything. Her spirit surrendered...

And then she was somewhere else.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex crashed forward onto her knees, throwing up until her guts ached. Her world suddenly became a riot of sensation. Bright lights, harsh breathing … the cold, hard concrete beneath her hands and knees, the stench of vomit … Alex rolled onto her side; too weak to even contemplate standing up.

"No, no, no, no…" she whispered to herself, trying to deny the evidence in front of her eyes.

A cell… she was in a god dammed police cell. Gathering her strength, Alex crawled away from the contents of her stomach and hauled herself up onto the hard shelf that served for a bed.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice sounded weak. "Can anyone hear me? Hello?"

But no one came. Alex closed her eyes as unwilling tears slipped down her cheeks. She lost track of time. God what was wrong with her? Alex gradually became aware that vomit wasn't the only unpleasant smell in the room. She looked down at herself, taking in the dirt and grime on her clothes, her skin.

Her hands moved to her hair. It was longer than she remembered, reaching well past her shoulders. Alex couldn't comb her fingers through the tangled mass.

Tentatively she sniffed, recoiling as the odour of stale sweat assaulted her nostrils. It had clearly been a while since she had been anywhere near water and neither had her clothes. She was wearing a torn denim jacket over a skirt that barely covered her arse… Alex closed her eyes. A prostitute? Again? She didn't know whom to blame this time, but if this was Gene Hunt's world she was going to have words regarding how his psyche seemed to perceive women.

God, what the hell had happened to her?

Alex lay back on the hard bed, trying to make sense of the images that suddenly flashed through her mind.

_She saw herself, lying in a hospital bed a dozen people huddled around trying to save her life. She wasn't dead. Not yet. _

_As she watched the monitor started to beep again. The flat line replaced by peaks and troughs. _

_"Fine ventricular fibrillation."_

"Prossie's puked up again!" the shout roused her from a restless slumber. Staggering to her feet, Alex lunged for the door.

"Please, please you have to help me," she begged.

The officer outside took an instinctive step backwards. What he was afraid of Alex couldn't tell. It wasn't like she posed much of a threat. She could hardly stand up. She spoke in what she hoped was a reasonable tone.

"My name is Alex Drake… I'm a detective inspector with the metropolitan police."

"Course you are, love," he smirked.

"No… listen to me damn it! I need to speak to DCI Hunt."

"The Guv's got better things to do than chat with scum."

If Alex could have reached through the door she would have slapped the grin right off the sergeant's face.

"At least tell me what I've been charged with!" Alex yelled at his retreating back.

Shit. This wasn't working. She slammed her fists against the door in frustration. Alex had never imagined what it would be like to find herself on the wrong side of the prison door. She had bruises on her bare legs. A testament to the treatment she had received? Perhaps a blow to the head was the reason she felt so crappy?

"Michaels you fecking arsehole, she's lying in her own sick!"

Alex winced, the strident tones splitting her skull. The accent was pure Irish. She found herself looking up at a tall harsh faced woman. Black hair and blue eyes that looked as if the could kill a man dead at thirty places. The woman opened the cell door, the expression on her face softening as she took in Alex's dishevelled condition.

"Don't worry we'll move you down the way a bit… while Sergeant Michaels here cleans this place with his toothbrush."

"Thank you, detective…?" Alex mumbled. The woman wasn't wearing a uniform so Alex guessed that she was probably a member of CID.

"Detective Constable O'Neill. Now come on… you can't stay here."

Alex let the other woman guide her out of the cell. She briefly thought about trying to escape but quickly realised that she didn't have the strength to get very far. The short walk to the next cell was leaving her shaking and sweating.

"O'Neill, you daft plonk, what do you think you're doing?"

"She needed moving, Guv."

"Get plod to do it. You're a DC now. Or had that fact bypassed your hormone soaked brain?"

In a heart stopping moment Alex recognised the suited figure at the end of the corridor. He was staring directly at her but there was no acknowledgment in his eyes.

"Gene?" she gasped

Breaking free of Marie's steadying arm Alex stumbled towards him, hours of anger and frustration suddenly boiling to the surface.

"I wasn't dead you bastard! You made me leave and I wasn't dead!" she heard herself scream at him.

"Told you she was a nutter," the uniformed officer at Gene's side muttered. It was the same one who had spoken to her earlier and Alex guessed that this was Sergeant Michaels. It seemed, however, that Gene agreed with him.

"Get her locked up Detective Constable or I'll have you back in that uniform so fast you'll get whiplash from your knicker elastic."

"No Gene… please… don't do this… Gene!" Alex pleaded with him as she felt a hand clamp around her upper arm. For a second she thought about resisting, but seeing the half scared expression on DC O'Neill's face she submitted to being led away. For all her bluster, Alex could see that the woman was nervous of her senior officer. She guessed that her promotion had been a recent one.

The 'clean' cell was really not much better than the last one. Alex sat down on the bed and tried to resist the urge to weep. Grim reality was starting to set in as she realised that there might not be a way out of this. She had been relying on Gene Hunt riding to her rescue. But Gene hadn't recognised her… Alex raised her head, realising that she was still under scrutiny. DC O'Neill was watching her.

"Do you know him, then?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The Guv?"

"I thought I did."

Alex had no idea how long she'd been gone. Although judging by the clothes Marie was wearing this was still the 1980s.

"Are you one of his snouts?"

"No. I'm… I was… I was DI Alex Drake."

Like Michaels before her, Marie showed no reaction apart from scepticism. Wrapping her arms around her body, Alex drew her knees up and let her head drop. She didn't know what she was, not any more. Everything she had believed about this world had been turned upside down.

"I have to speak to DCI Hunt," Alex whispered. "Go to him… please… Tell him… tell him that Bolly's back."

"What was that again?"


	3. Chapter 3

Marie O'Neill hurried through the corridors of Fenchurch East police station wondering how the hell she was going to explain this.

"Seen the Guv?" she asked Michaels as she dashed past.

"No… he'll be at lunch by now," he called after her.

She'd transferred a year ago, not expecting to get promoted so rapidly. Despite her record and her qualifications, most DCIs would have passed her over in favour of one of her male colleagues. At first she'd expected that her promotion would have some kind of price tag attached to it. Hunt was probably the most misogynistic man she had ever met, but he'd never laid a finger on her… unlike some of her male associates who thought her arse was there to provide them with cheap thrills. Hunt could be a cruel bastard of a man but despite the shite he put her through he did listen to her opinions… sometimes. Would he listen to her this time?

Everyone at the station had heard about Alex Drake but no one dared mention the name, especially not in front of the Guv. As with all rumours, everyone told a slightly different variation of the same story. Her male colleagues told a triumphant tale of how the Guv had shagged and then dumped the best looking bird on the force. The WPCs were of the opinion that Drake had been a cruel, callous bitch who'd broken Hunt's heart when she left him for another DCI. Marie preferred to rely on the evidence of her own eyes. No matter how many attractive women sidled up to him of an evening, the Guv always drank alone.

In fact, she struggled to remember a time when she hadn't seen him with a drink in his hand or a cigarette dangling from his lips.

There was no one in CID when she burst through the door. Even though it was late, Marie was surprised to see that the Guv's office was empty. Hunt was usually first one in and the last one out. She thought about waiting until morning but the woman in the cells … Alex, had seemed desperate. Marie didn't want to face Hunt's displeasure if he thought that she had been withholding information from him. She'd seen him reduce grown men to tears and had no desire to suffer a similar humiliation.

Perhaps she could leave him a note? She scribbled a few words on a pad before ripping off the sheet and walking into the office to place it on his desk. Marie couldn't have said what made her hesitate. It was the first time she had been in there alone and her curiosity got the better of her. There was something about the way Alex had spoken that made Marie want to find out more about the man she worked for. There was suddenly more to Gene Hunt than met the eye. He had a past and the very idea intrigued her.

A cursory glance around his office told her nothing. There were a couple of newspaper clippings on the notice board, one of which looked as if it had been crumpled up and then painstakingly ironed flat. Neither of them mentioned a woman named Alex.

The photo was tucked away on the shelf behind the Guv's desk. On first glance it looked like nothing more than a shot of a group of friends at a party. Marie narrowed her eyes as she took in the detail. There was Gene Hunt, standing very close to a woman who was wearing a very short gold dress. They were smiling at each other, oblivious to anyone else in the group. Something about the photo brought a lump to Marie's throat. She had never seen the Guv smile at anyone, not like that. It was almost as if he…

But it was her. The woman in the cells… Alex. She was thinner than she had been when the photograph had been taken. No longer elegant, or even beautiful. But it was definitely her.

"Having fun are we?"

Marie looked up. He was standing in the doorway, the ever-present glass of single malt balanced between his fingers. She froze, unable to do anything but watch as he strode to her side, his hand clamping around her wrist.

"No one goes through my stuff!" he spat.

He wasn't drunk but the stench of whisky on his breath was overpowering. Marie held her ground. She had the feeling that this was too important to let go.

"It's her, Guv," Marie said, showing him the photo. "She's in the cells. She's asking for you."

Hunt took the picture from her trembling fingers, holding it reverently for a second before crumpling it up in his fist.

"Alex Drake disappeared two years ago."

"No, Guv… I'm telling you…"

Marie ducked quickly as the glass he'd been holding streaked past her head and smashed into the wall behind her.

"She said her name was Bolly!" Marie shouted at him.

"Bolly's gone!"

Marie backed away, softening her voice in her attempts to get him to see reason.

"I think you should talk to her."

"Yes well… I don't happen to care what you think Detective Constable O'Neill. I care what…"

He stopped.

"Look Guv, she's probably as mad as a bag of bees but she must have got the name from somewhere. Maybe she knows something about what happened to your DI Drake?"

"That's the point, O'Neill. She's not my DI Drake… she never was."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Bollinger Knickers… Bolly … Bols… Lady B… The names flashed through his mind, some affectionate … some less so. The most annoying, argumentative, woman he'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

But when he'd realised that her negative qualities had been accompanied by a wicked sense of humour and the ability to drink most grown men under the table… If only she hadn't been so fucking gorgeous he might have stood a chance.

Gene Hunt poured the last dregs of whiskey into his glass, staring into the darkness and wondering what cruel cosmic joke had dragged Alex Drake back into his life. Beneath his fingers lay the crumpled photo. He didn't look at it… didn't want to. Didn't want to remember the night she'd put on a dress that barely covered her arse just to make him happy. Of course shortly after that everything had gone to shit. He'd shot her and she'd never trusted him again. When he sat and thought about it, he couldn't remember the exact details of her leaving. The memories seemed to slip away until all he could recall with certainty was the night, the music and the way she had felt as she danced in his arms. Gene knew his mind wasn't as sharp as it had been. He blamed the booze.

A mad woman shouting nonsense at him for no reason? He shouldn't have needed some wet behind the ears DC to state the bleeding obvious.

Alex Drake was back.

He had every right to leave her exactly where she was. Let her face the charges and finally rid himself of the lingering guilt that nagged at his gut, but he couldn't do that. He had to see her one more time, convince himself that she really did mean nothing to him… less that nothing. Leaving his half finished drink on the desk, Gene headed towards the cells.

Usually it didn't bother him that the place was a shit hole. As far as Gene was concerned, if you broke the law you shouldn't expect to spend the night in palace, but as he looked down on the woman sprawled across the bunk, he realised that there were limits. One of the other cells was still splattered with vomit… Sergeant Michaels quite clearly needed a kick up the arse. He used that thought to distract himself for a moment, anything to avoid looking at her too closely. But dreaming up creative punishments for the desk sergeant couldn't keep him occupied forever. It was Alex. He could see it now…. Despite the longer hair… the dirt.

And Gene knew that he couldn't ever walk away.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Alex?"

The voice was soft, barely breaking through pounding in her head. Alex wanted it to go away… she wanted it all to go away.

"Alex?"

Louder this time. She felt a hand pushing back the rank mass of her hair away from her face and she opened her eyes.

"Hello Bollykecks."

Gene was crouching beside the bed. Alex stared at him for a moment, not quite believing the evidence of her eyes. She reached out, letting her hand rest against his cheek for a moment.

"Brought you this. Thought you might need it."

He pushed a mug into her hand. She instantly recognised the dark liquid… oxtail soup. Her teeth chattered as she attempted to sip the hot liquid. Her hands were shaking so much that she was in danger of spilling the soup. Gene however, took pity on her. Cupping his hands around hers, he helped her take a drink. Alex fought back a grimace. It tasted like the machine had half mixed it with coffee and orange juice.

"Why am I here, Gene?" she asked.

"You were picked up at Kings Cross, soliciting," he said quietly. "And in possession of a small quantity of heroin."

"Gene you know I wouldn't…"

Taking her hand, he rolled up the sleeve of her jacket. The track marks were livid on her skin. There was no denying the evidence before her eyes.

"What happened Alex?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said simply, horrified by the sight of her ravaged veins.

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"Gene… this is about trust, it's about faith. You said that to me once."

"Yes I did… and then you buggared off with Jimbo Keats and never said goodbye."

She frowned. Didn't he remember? Or maybe he wanted to forget?

"I was… I was somewhere else."

Alex was struggling to put her experience into words.

"Where's that? Just south of nowhere in particular?"

She shook her head. There was nothing she could tell him. Gene Hunt wouldn't let himself believe in anything that he couldn't touch or feel. She almost smiled when she imagined what his reaction would be. The oxtail soup was roiling in her stomach. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Without a word, Gene helped her up and across to the toilet. He held her hair back as she threw up again. She leaned against him when she finally stopped retching, her fingers clutching at the lapels of his jacket, suddenly terrified that he would think she was no longer worth the effort and leave. Alex had no idea what was happening to her.

"How long's this going to last?" he asked.

"Heroin withdrawal… Symptoms will persist for 4-7 days," she replied, wiping her mouth.

"Right. Stay put. I'm going to talk to the super."

"What for?"

"To put in for some of that leave he owes me."

"Gene…"

"Shut your gob woman. I'm taking you home with me… end of."


	4. Chapter 4

Superintendent Peter Fisherman had never intended to take the job at Fenchurch East. It had never been on his list of career goals, however after the unfortunate incident with Mackintosh, Peter had been told… in no uncertain terms, that this was where his future lay. He knew the reasons and one of them was currently knocking at the door with enough force to make the wood rattle on its hinges. Fisherman stared out of the window, sipped his tea and made a bet with himself as to how long it would be before Gene Hunt ran out of patience and just walked in.

Ten seconds later the door crashed open.

"Tea, DCI Hunt?" Fisherman asked without turning around. He liked to give the impression of omniscience, even though he knew that his superiors would frown on his presumption.

"No thank you, Sir."

"You should, you know. It's Earl Grey."

"I'm sure it's very nice, Sir."

"Take a seat."

"I'd rather stand, sir."

Three sirs... It had to be important. Fisherman turned away from the window and sat down at his desk.

"And what can I do for you, Gene?"

The man shifted uncomfortably, quite clearly hating the fact that he had to ask his superior officer for anything.

"Sir," he almost choked on the words, "I need a favour."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Gene's home wasn't what she expected. Neat, tidy, clean… even the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke wasn't disagreeable. Alex didn't know why she was surprised. For all his faults, personal hygiene wasn't one of them. His suits were always clean, his shirts ironed… First thing in the morning he always smelled of soap and aftershave. And although she would never, ever admit it to his face, Alex quite liked his 'man stink'. After where she had come from, the two bedroomed terraced house felt like a palace.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking up at him not knowing what she should do next. Alex desperately wanted to sleep, to climb between clean sheets and lose herself to dreams. She wanted to believe that just by closing her eyes she could get back to that peaceful place… where her limbs didn't ache… where she was already dead.

"Want a brew?"

Alex shook her head.

"I think I need a bath."

"Good idea. You smell worse than Geoff Boycott's jockstrap."

She couldn't bring herself to smile.

"Okay … right … it's this way."

Taking her arm, he led her up the narrow stairs.

"Bathroom," he opened one of the three doors on the cramped landing. She walked in and made to shut the door but Gene stopped her.

"Best leave it open," he said.

"I'm not going to shoot up in there, if that's what you think!"

"Or maybe I don't want you laid out on the floor choking on your own puke?"

He turned away and started back down the stairs. She could tell that he was struggling to keep his temper but for some perverse reason, Alex wanted him to shout at her. His anger was something she could understand. In this world of uncertainty she ached for the familiar antagonism. But she knew well enough that she could only push him so far. He'd taken her into his home so the least she could do was show some kind of gratitude.

"Gene," she called softly after him.

He stopped. His head bowed.

"Yes Bolls?"

"Don't go."

Hot water and soap was all Gene's bathroom offered in the way of luxuries. But Alex was oddly pleased that no female toiletries lurked behind the Blue Stratos. He waited until she was fully immersed before coming in and seating himself with his back to the bathtub. Alex tackled her hair first. Huge great chunks of it seemed to float away as she dragged her fingers through the tangles.

She hated to think how long it had been since she'd last bathed. The dirt was ingrained into her skin. Alex scrubbed so hard that the water was grey when she'd finished.

Gene averted his eyes as she stepped out of the bath and into the towel that he held ready. He wrapped a second one around her hair.

"I'll find you something to wear," he said.

Sitting on the edge of the bath she waited for him to come back with a pair of pyjamas. They were far too big but Alex was grateful for their soft warmth against her raw skin. The whole evening was taking on a surreal quality. Two hours ago she had been throwing up in a prison cell and now she was safe, warm and clean. But so, so tired. Alex found herself leaning against Gene as he practically carried her into the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and stood back, seemingly unsure of what to do next.

"Not the way I'd hoped to get you into my bed, Bolls," he said.

"Me neither," she admitted.

He pulled back the covers and Alex immediately buried herself under the sheets. The warmth seemed to be fading from her body. She couldn't stop shaking.

"Try and get some sleep. I'll be right here if you need anything."

There was a chair in the corner of the bedroom. Alex watched as Gene grabbed a blanket and settled himself down.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_"Alex… Alex, can you hear me?"_

_The walls around her were painted white, so bright that the glare hurt her eyes. Awake… she was awake… Molly… where was Molly? _

_"Blink if you understand me, Alex."_

_The voice was soft, cultured, reassuring. Slowly, carefully she closed her eyes and opened them again. _

_"You need to heal. We're going to put you into a medically induced coma."_

_No! Put her in a coma and she'd go back… back to that place and she might never fight herself free. _

_But the doctor couldn't hear her silent scream._

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_

"No!"

She was calling out in her sleep. Gene jerked awake, confused for a moment both by the fact that he had managed to fall asleep in the chair and that Alex Drake was in his bed. He struggled free of the blankets and went to her, unsure of what he could do. Her hands were curled up into fists, so he couldn't hold them. Despite the bath, her hair was still a greasy mess and he really didn't want to touch it, let alone stroke it and soothe her fears. He settled for tucking the duvet a little more securely around her shoulders.

The worst of it was that he was now distressingly sober so he couldn't blame the whole experience on an alcohol fuelled nightmare. Gene Hunt was no stranger to addiction. His own, and the missus had been none too sober either… the scum he swept off the streets… his brother. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Gene let himself imagine how Stu had died. Alone? Scared? Shouting at the walls? All he had ever seen was the body in the morgue. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Alex hadn't ended up the same way.

He snatched up the bottle of Johnny Walker from the bedside table and returned to his chair. Oblivion. Gene stared at the amber liquid, struggling to remember a time when he hadn't fallen into bed too drunk to stand. But with Alex here, he knew he couldn't afford to give in to his demons. She needed him to stay sober. Reluctantly, he set the bottle down on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

The first day was hell. The second was worse. And on the third day she wanted to die. On the fourth day she got down on her knees and begged Gene to help her feel better. He threatened to dump her back in a police cell if she ever asked him again.

The rational part of Alex's mind knew what was happening but it did nothing to stop the physical pain of her withdrawal. She tried to catalogue the symptoms dispassionately; cramps, vomiting, diarrhoea… Alex spent more time in Gene's bathroom than she did in his bed. She soaked his sheets with her sweat… and worse.

And there were dreams. Molly. She could see Molly again … hear her voice. Alex would wake up with tears streaming down her face, wondering if she was going to be trapped in this strange half-life forever. She didn't dare hope that she might actually find her way home.

Day five and Gene had given up sleeping in the chair. She woke up in the middle of the night to find him sprawled on the bed next to her. The tension in his body was evident even as he slept. He was lying on his stomach, one arm flung out towards her. Alex found herself wondering if he'd just slept where he'd fallen or whether he'd held her through the night. She noticed the half empty bottle of whiskey by his chair and realised that the level hadn't dropped since she'd arrived. He was probably fighting his own demons as well as hers.

On the sixth day, she finally found the strength to look into a mirror. A stranger stared back. Her skin was yellow, paper-thin. Hair dry and brittle. Her arms and legs were covered in bruises and scabs from her efforts to stop the incessant itching in her blood. And thin… so thin. Supermodels may have found it attractive but Alex didn't.

"You look like shit."

Gene was standing close behind her but Alex made no move to step away. He'd spent the last week doing practically everything for her. She didn't have much to hide from him… not anymore.

"Yeah… yeah I do," she admitted.

Alex knew enough to realise that men had found her attractive, but any beauty seemed to have been drained from her face.

"Ready to tell me what happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said simply. "The last thing I remember is walking into the pub with Ray, Chris and Shaz… "

She looked at him closely to see if her words had any effect. All he did was frown.

"Chris and Shaz got married about a year ago and moved to Scotland… Ray joined the army… bloody idiot."

Alex couldn't tell whether he was in some form of extreme denial or whether he truly had forgotten.

"And me?" she asked.

"It were after that night in your flat… I told you to go… and you did."

"I remember," Alex whispered.

At the time she hadn't realised how much she'd hurt him. Thinking back, she had been so full of her own importance, her own need to discover a truth that was better left buried that she hadn't stopped to consider Gene. He'd been ready to bare his soul to her that night and she'd run away from because a man had turned up at her door with a photograph.

"I never thought you'd actually leave me."

Alex had believed that she had redeemed herself by standing by his side but if Gene didn't remember…

"After a while… after a while I went looking. Never found anything. Figured you'd be okay. Didn't realise you would… "

He blamed himself, she realised. In his mind, he had been the one to send her away and it was his fault that she had ended up this way. Alex wanted nothing more than to tell him how wrong he was, but she had no idea how she could even start to explain. Even if she could have found the words she knew from bitter experience that any explanation would only serve to heighten the tension between them. Instinctively, Alex's fingers found the small puckered scar on her abdomen. An action that didn't go unnoticed. The lingering guilt was still evident in Gene's eyes. No, he didn't cope well with the surreal. Now that she knew the truth, Alex wondered if he was unconsciously protecting this world and his place in it. She knew that it would be downright cruel to bring this crashing down around him for a second time.

God, if she could only go back and have that night again, she would never have let herself get seduced by Keats. Given that moment over again, she would have ignored that knock on the door and stayed with Gene.

"What now?" she asked.

"Breakfast… you look like you could do with a fry up."

Subject changed and he stalked away. Alex dropped her head into her hands, massaging her temples as she tried to dispel the headache that was building. The thought of food was still enough to make her stomach churn. She suspected that Gene's suggestion was nothing more than an excuse to get away from her for a while. It wasn't easy being anyone's nursemaid.

She looked at herself again, taking in the sweat stained pyjamas she'd now been wearing for a week. God, she needed a shower and then… and then… Alex had no idea. One step at a time she told herself with a certain amount of irony. She didn't dare believe that some time soon she might actually wake up. That promise had been snatched away from her once. And this illusion might be nothing more than anpther cruel joke.

The shower felt wonderful, but by the time she had finished she was so exhausted she could barely stand. Not having the energy to search for new clothes she snagged Gene's bathrobe from the back of the door and slipped it on. Alex could smell eggs cooking as she walked down the stairs.

"Shower's free," she smiled nervously at Gene as she walked into the kitchen.

He looked very domestic, spatula in hand with a tea towel slung over his shoulder, blonde hair still dishevelled from sleep. Without a word he plonked a plate of scrambled eggs and toast down on the table quickly followed by a mug of strong tea. But all Alex could bring herself to do was push the food about the plate. She tried to take a gulp of tea but it was too strong, too sweet.

"Eat," Gene ordered.

But her body didn't want food. She was still struggling against a more powerful craving and she wasn't strong enough to fight it. Ashamed of her weakness, Alex pushed the plate away. She clenched her fists at her sides trying to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. Gene noticed though… he noticed everything and she knew that she had disappointed him.

"I need clothes," she said.

"I'll call the station and get a plonk to bring some round."

"Preferably not taken off a corpse. I could buy some…"

"Gene Hunt does not go shopping!"

Alex closed her eyes for a moment suddenly remembering his body pressed against hers, the brush of his lips against her forehead.

"When I was arrested… was there an address? You could take me there."

"And give you the chance to shoot up again?"

"I didn't mean… I need to know what happened to me Gene. "

"No chance!"

"Please?"

He turned away from her, head bowed. Alex felt like shit for doing this to him. She was playing on emotions that he must have thought were long dead and buried. A chill flashed through her body and she pulled the robe tightly around herself.

"And I really need my clothes," she told him.


	6. Chapter 6

Time hadn't changed Gene's driving skills. Alex felt sick by the time the Mercedes screeched to a halt outside a run down hotel close to Kings Cross Station.

"I miss the Quattro," she tried to smile as Gene opened the door for her. He didn't reply.

The clothes question had been solved for the short term. Alex was wearing a pair of Gene's suit trousers. She'd made a few new holes in his belt to hold them up but the shirt she wore covered that up. She had his coat draped around her shoulders, but it seemed to do little to ward off the chill in the air. Alex realised that she didn't even know what season it was… or even what year.

On her feet she wore the red stilettos she'd be found in… her ruby slippers, but however many time she clicked her heels home never seemed to appear.

Looking up at the building Alex wondered again why she had been dragged so low? Was it a symptom of the trauma her body had been through? But she was getting better. Her body was healing just as the doctor had said.

"Bolly!" Gene's shout brought her thoughts back to reality… this reality. Grabbing her elbow, he guided her inside the building.

The reception area was dark and smelt damp. Gene didn't give her time to adjust as he steered her past the man sleeping at the desk. Alex stumbled in her heels as she was hurried up the stairs. She realised that Gene didn't want to be here but at the rate they were going she was in danger of breaking an ankle.

"Don't we need a key?" she hissed when they paused outside a door on the third floor.

"Got me own."

Alex stepped away and waited for the inevitable crash as he put his shoulder to the locked door.

"Doesn't it hurt when you do that?" she questioned.

"No… I'm a hard bastard… or did you forget that as well?"

Ignoring his jibe, Alex stepped over the remains of the door and into the room that had been her home.

"Shit," Gene breathed.

It was an understatement. Alex instantly knew that she wouldn't be wearing any of the clothes that were liberally scattered across the dirty floor. The place stank of damp… and worse. Stale food … at least that's what she hoped it was. It actually smelled as if something had died in there. Alex wrapped her arms about herself as she picked through the detritus of her life. There was a suitcase under the bed and Alex reached down to pull it out,

"Careful," Gene warned.

Looking down, Alex could see that she'd almost knelt on a discarded needle. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a sob. How the hell could she have lived like this? Dimly she became aware that Gene was searching the room; methodically opening draws, throwing the contents onto the floor.

"Leave it… I don't want any of this stuff," she told him.

"Not even this?"

He held a small plastic bag between his fingers and Alex had no trouble recognising the off-white powder within.

"What shall I do with it, Alex?" he asked, his eyes blazing.

"Flush it," she answered without hesitation.

To her surprise he handed the bag to her.

"You do it."

She nodded. Alex was painfully aware of Gene's eyes on her as she walked into the bathroom. If this was a test, it was a cruel and needless one. Her body might have been addicted but her mind was not. Gene obviously didn't trust her. He followed, standing back and watching as she flushed the drugs away.

"Satisfied?" she demanded.

"How about the rest?"

"What do you mean?"

"That stash was a little too easy to find."

"How many times… I don't know… this wasn't me!"

He ignored her, resuming his search of the dank, dark room. Alex wanted to get out of there. She hated to think that she had been reduced to living like this. But she hadn't… that's what she had to keep telling herself. This wasn't her life.

Gene's exploration was very thorough, but he didn't find any more drugs. However, he seemed to take great delight in riffling through the collection of dodgy underwear. Most of it she wouldn't have been caught dead in. He held up a particularly dubious pair of knickers, twirling the offending garment around his finger.

"Seriously Gene … a red PVC G-string? I know you think I'm a tart but there are depths to which I wouldn't stoop."

He shrugged and shoved the underwear back in the drawer.

"Do you want any of this stuff?"

"No."

She wished they could just set fire to the lot. There wasn't a single item of clothing that she would consider wearing. She'd go naked first… Although she chose not to voice that particular thought. Gene had probably had enough excitement for one day.

"Just get me out of here," she pleaded.

Gene stared at her for a long moment before gesturing that she should go first. At any other time Alex might have accused him of doing it so that he could get a good look at her arse, but he hadn't even glanced in that direction. She knew that he wanted her in plain sight at all times and it hurt more than she cared to admit. As they silently descended the stairs, Alex found herself wondering if there wasn't some other reason for his behaviour. There was a sense of impending violence about him.

The man at the desk was awake and on his feet as they crossed through the hallway again. He shouted at them, something about money owing, but Alex kept her head down and tried to push past. The man grabbed her, his hand clutching her arm tightly enough to bruise. She knew as soon as he touched her that he'd make a mistake. Gene exploded into action. He ripped the smaller man away from her, slamming him into the nearest wall. Alex let out an involuntary shout as she heard a crunch that could have been broken bones.

Unable to think of any other way to stop him, she grabbed Gene's jacket and attempted to drag him away. He didn't take any notice. Alex knew that she didn't really have the strength to stop him.

"Gene no!"

With bad grace, he let the sobbing man go. Clutching his hand tightly in her own, she pulled him outside.

"Nasty little scrotum."

"There was no need for that!"

"How exactly were you meant to be paying him, Alex?"

"I don't know!"

Shouting at each other in the street was serving no purpose, but Alex couldn't stop.

"When are you going to start trusting me?"

"When you can prove to me that you're not a drugged up prossie whose knicker elastic is as loose as her…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

To her surprise, Gene looked a little ashamed of his outburst. Alex took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself down. He didn't apologise, but she didn't expect him to. Brooding silently, he opened the car door for her and ushered her inside. Gene took several sips from his hip flask before he joined her. Only when he had his hands on the wheel did Alex venture to speak again.

"I really need to stop wearing your clothes, Gene. I'm starting to smell like you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Actually, it wasn't but the scent was better on a male body.

"Right…where do you want to go shopping then? Better not be Harrods."

"Oxford Street will be fine."


	7. Chapter 7

If Alex had expected Gene to take on the traditional male role of standing miserably outside of Top Shop smoking a lonely fag, she was sadly mistaken. Instead he lurked at her shoulder, glaring at anyone who happened to step too close. In reality she should have known that he wouldn't let her out of his sight but what she had hoped would be a leisurely shopping expedition was proving unusually stressful.

He didn't pass comment on her fashion choices but she was wary of choosing anything that he would consider tarty or skimpy or slutty. Their earlier argument was very much on her mind. Jeans and baggy jumpers seemed to be the safest option. Even the underwear she chose was selected to be practical rather than pretty. Besides, her body was in no condition to be put on display.

"Don't you want something posh?" Gene spoke for the first time as she finally made her way to the till.

For some reason, the thought of him buying her a pretty dress made her uncomfortable. She wondered if he was thinking about taking her out somewhere, but quickly dismissed the idea. He'd made it clear that he thought little of her reappearance in his life. She was sure he was only looking after her out of some misguided sense of chivalry.

"No one to wear it for," she replied lightly.

He turned away, suddenly unnaturally interested in a rack of plastic macs. Alex swore to herself …. Shit … For once in his life Gene had been trying to be nice and she'd thrown the gesture back in his face. Gone were the times when his soul aim in life seemed to be getting into her knickers. She didn't like to admit it, but sometimes Alex had wondered why he'd stopped trying.

Feeling somewhat guilty, Alex let him carry her bags to the car.

"Anything else?' he asked.

"Um…" she ventured.

"What ?"

Alex gave a discreet cough and nodded in the direction of Boots.

"Ah… lady stuff..."

If Alex thought the threat of sanitary products would give her a few minutes peace, she was sadly mistaken. Gene followed her across the road and into the shop. He didn't even seem phased when she picked up a large box of Tampax and tossed it into the basket he was holding.

"I was married, Bols. Tampons don't scare me."

"Remember that next time I've got the decorators in and you call me a heinous bitch."

"A what?"

"Moody cow?"

"Better."

She closed her eyes, "I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

Shampoo, conditioner, bath oil … Alex flung them all in the basket. Foundation, eyeliner, mascara… this was going to cost a small fortune.

"Don't know why you need that war paint," he muttered as she lingered over eye shadows, trying to decide between blue and green.

"You're the one who doesn't like to see a woman without her make-up on," she retorted. She didn't want to admit that it was a face for her to hide behind… especially now.

"And you didn't have to come with me," Alex went on as she picked up a bottle of perfume and sniffed its contents. She dabbed a little on her wrists and then offered one to Gene.

"What do you think?"

"I think I preferred it when you smelled like me. Can we hurry this up?"

"Why? Worried I'm going to give you a makeover?"

"A what?"

"You know Gok Wang could do a lot for you. Tell me Gene… do you look good naked?"

He leaned closer, warm breath caressing her cheek.

"I look bloody fantastic."

Alex laughed. She couldn't help it; the very thought of Gene Hunt lacking body confidence was enough to send her into fits of giggles. Even off duty he still wore a suit. His only concession to casual dressing was the lack of a tie. He'd been getting more than his fair share of appreciative glances as he'd trailed her round the shops. Something he couldn't fail to have noticed. Even the woman behind the till offered him a bright smile, which he returned, as he pulled out his wallet to pay for Alex's shopping.

"Wish I had one like him back at home," the woman said.

A surge of jealousy flashed through Alex, but she wasn't really in the mood to analyse the reasons why. Wanting to shut the woman up, she said the first thing that came into her head. Very loudly.

"Actually I'm his crack whore."

The silence that followed her words seemed to spread throughout the shop. Gene slapped a few notes down before he headed outside, not bothering to wait for change. Alex felt herself go red as she quickly gathered up her bags and followed him.

As he strode ahead of her, Alex could see he'd already managed to light up, and his hip flask was in his spare hand. She followed behind, silently fuming. The words she'd spoken had been meant in jest ... but she had to acknowledge that there had been a certain amount of truth in what she'd said. Over the past few days she'd convinced herself that was exactly the way he saw her.

"Get in the car."

"I will not!"

"Get in!"

Alex took a deep breath and tried to calm her angry thoughts. She got in the car.

"There was no need for that," Gene said as he pulled away from the kerb.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

She turned to him, wanting to make one more effort to make him understand.

"Gene … I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter. You saw me flush the drugs away. "

"That's the problem with addicts they'll say anything to get you to leave them alone. I will not let you go running off in search of your next hit! I do not want to find you dead in a back room somewhere after scoring some dodgy smack!"

"I am not a bloody drug addict!"

Gene brought the car to a screeching halt. He grabbed her arm, pushing up the loose sleeve of the shirt, baring the ugly track marks.

"Evidence says otherwise, Drakey."

Alex snatched her arm away from him.

"Piss off!"

"I am trying to help you!"

"I don't want your help! I want to go home Gene. That's all!"

The next thing Alex knew she was in his arms, sobbing into his jacket. One of his hands came to rest on her head, his fingers roughly tangling with her hair. She felt his lips brush her temple, once … twice.

"It's all right, Alex. You're home now. You're safe."

His voice was harsh with emotion and Alex felt herself relax against him, his warmth seeping through her body.

_"MUMMY!"_

Molly's anguished scream ripped through Alex's head, tearing her back to her true purpose. She struggled free of Gene's arms and pushed him away.

"This isn't my home! It will never be my home!"

Fumbling with the car door, she managed to get it open and stumble out into the busy street.

"You… you just stay away from me!" she screamed at the car.

People stopped and stared, but Alex was past caring. She started to run, away from him… away from everything. He called out but she ignored him, darting down one side street, then another, then another. Alex could only hope that the crowd would slow him down and give her the chance to escape.

Her instincts were proved right. Before too long, Alex found herself alone in a quiet alley. She stopped running and let herself collapse on a doorstep. Finally, for the first time since being dragged back to this world, she felt in control of her destiny. Letting her head rest on her folded arms, she again pondered the circumstances which had brought her here… trapped again in this world between worlds.

Alex was painfully reminded of the fist time she had been here. Waiting in breathless anticipation for the moment when she would wake up. Counting the minutes… the seconds… And now … It had to be soon… didn't it? And at the back of her mind was the nagging suspicion that this was nothing more than a cruel trick. Her body had been dragged back to life by well meaning surgeons but there was no guarantee that it would stay that way. Her grip on any kind of existence might be tenuous at best. She had to keep fighting even when her soul ached to be at peace. The warmth, the light… Her memories of that place were fading now, slipping away.

Raising her head, Alex realised that she had only a vague idea of where she was, but this was London. Walk far enough and she'd find a tube station. Had the automatic ticket barriers been introduced yet? She couldn't remember. Pulling Gene's coat around her more closely, she tried to ward off the chill that seemed to be invading her soul. It could have been another symptom of what was happening to her in the real world, or it could have been related to something far more sinister. Alex had no idea what time it was or how much had passed since she had run away from Gene. A London girl born and bred, she had never feared this city but now, out here alone, the words of one Ray Carling came to mind with startling clarity,

_"If you're smart you'll realise that where the Guv is… is the right place to be."_

This wasn't her London. It might look the same but there were things out here in the dark that she wasn't prepared to fight. Alex knew enough about this world to realise that if you did die you wanted Gene Hunt by your side.

But Alex Drake wasn't going to die.

There was a place she could go… and if she had to take a cab then… then she knew that he would pay the fare.


	8. Chapter 8

The house wasn't as she remembered. Even though she was now a grown woman, it seemed bigger and more imposing. Taking a deep breath, Alex marched up the path and knocked on the front door.

"Please be in, please be in," she whispered to herself. He had to be. Alex had been away from her daughter for a while but the routines involved were still burned into her brain. Evan had a twelve year old child to look after and it was a school night. As much as she hated to admit it, Alex was nervous. He wouldn't turn her away… would he? The last time they'd met the circumstances had been less than ideal. And there had been that night in her flat. Asking her Godfather out on a date had been bad enough but telling him that she was actually thinking about another man hadn't been one of her finest moments.

She had just decided that, in this case discretion was probably the better part of valour when the door opened.

"Alex?"

"Hello Evan."

"Dear God, I barely recognised you."

In other words she looked like shit.

"It's been a while," Alex tried to smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

She didn't want to explain, not standing out here.

"Of course."

He stood back and Alex walked into the house. She wasn't sure what she expected. Evan White had changed very little in the years since she had last seen him. He was just starting to go grey around the temples … no doubt a result of suddenly finding himself the guardian of little Alexandra Price. Those first years after the death of her parents had been hard. She had resented being dragged away from her family home. It had taken her a while to realise that Evan had been trying to save her from the unhappy memories. Alex had wanted to stay in the place where the recollections were strongest and cling onto her parents for as long as possible.

As she walked down the hall and into the living room, Alex found herself almost overwhelmed by the feeling that finally she was safe.

"Sit down," Evan smiled, "I'll make some tea."

Relieved, Alex did as he asked, taking comfort in the familiar couch. She had very little understanding of the way this world worked but Evan was here and this was home.

"Where's Alexandra?" she called out, suddenly wondering where her counterpart was.

"Netball practice."

She won't make the team, Alex remembered a little sadly. However hard she tried she had never been able to jump high enough or run fast enough. Eventually, the teacher had taken pity on her and let her serve the oranges at half time.

"In fact I need to pick her up… about now…" Evan went on.

"Go."

"Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine… don't be late for Alex."

"I won't be long."

Evan had never been late, not once. Alex remembered that now. Caroline Price on the other hand had been happy to leave her child waiting for hours. Or it had seemed that way. Despite everything, Alex still held some resentment in her heart.

The front door slammed and Alex was alone. She was tempted to wander through the house but the years here had taught her to be a little more circumspect. She couldn't just run amok without any consideration for other people's feelings. Her behaviour when she had first arrived had been horrific. Danny Moore… the yuppie twat… God she'd never bothered to find out his name. Gene had been right when he'd accused her of being unprofessional.

Damn. Why couldn't she get the man out of her head? Realising that she was still wearing his coat, Alex stripped it off and flung it away. She didn't need Gene Hunt. Rising, she went in search of the bathroom. Rolling up the sleeves of the shirt, she set about scrubbing the stench of cigarettes and whiskey from her skin. The flesh was raw by the time she finished and Alex didn't feel any better. He was still with her.

She walked back to the living room and sipped at her cold tea. Being here alone was making her nervous and she longed for Evan to come back.

_"Mummy? Mummy? You can wake up now… Mummy?"_

_"Leave her alone, scrap. She'll wake up when she's ready."_

"Wake up, Alex."

_"You have to keep talking to coma patients. Mum said so."_

_"I know she did, but it's late. _

_"What if she wakes up and there's no one here?"_

"Alex?"

"Molly"?"

She opened her eyes, expecting to see the bright lights of a modern hospital. Evan White was looking down at her, but the little girl with him wasn't Molly.

Despite her disappointment, Alex smiled at him,

"I didn't mean to fall asleep."

But his expression was unusually grave as he reached down and took her wrist in his hand. Shirt sleeves still rolled up, the marks on her arms were clearly visible. Snatching her wrist away from Evan, Alex tried to cover her arms, but she already knew it was too late.

"Alexandra, please go to your room." Evan ignored Alex, speaking to the child. She went without protest, but Alex could see the rebellion the little girl's eyes.

"Evan?"

"I'm sorry, Alex you have to go."

He bundled up Gene's coat and handed it to her.

"No… No… I"

"I can't have you here, not with Alexandra."

"Please."

He wasn't giving her time to explain. She found herself being hurried towards the door and the next thing she knew Alex was outside in the street. She wanted to shout and swear at him but she was wary of the little girl overhearing. Little Alex probably hadn't gone to he room at all. In fact she was probably sitting on the stairs, listening to every word.

Evan pulled out his wallet and pushed a bundle of notes into her hand.

"Get a taxi… a hotel room… whatever you need… maybe tomorrow you can come by the office and we'll see about getting you into rehab…"

"I don't need rehab," Alex hissed, "And I don't need your fucking money."

She flung it back, the notes fluttering about him as they drifted to the ground. The truth was that Alex had no idea what she was going to do. Money wasn't going to solve anything. It was with a certain sadness that she realised that this was Evan's answer for everything. He'd throw cash at a problem and hope that it would go away. For a child it made for great birthday presents… but as an adult, Alex had expected more from him

Alone once more, she realised that there was only one choice left to her. Quickening her step, she hurried back in the direction of the river.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Life at Fenchurch East had certainly been peaceful since DCI Hunt had been on leave. The atmosphere had been more relaxed without his overbearing presence. Marie O'Neill was certainly not the only one disappointed when he unexpectedly came bursting through the doors and marched straight into his office. It was amazing how all conversation stopped and people suddenly became unnaturally interested in the jobs they were supposed to be doing.

Unable the help herself, Marie took a sneaky glance into the office. Sure enough Hunt had lit up and already had a shot of whiskey in his glass.

"Looks like it didn't work out with the prossie?" Sergeant Michaels sniggered.

"Shut your gob," Marie heard herself say, wondering why she was defending the woman who had put the Guv in such a foul mood. She actually felt a wee bit sorry for her boss. Alex Drake had obviously meant a lot to him… although if she really was some kind of washed up drug addict then he was probably better off without her.

"Chappel! Get your pointless arse in here!"

"He's going to get a bollocking," Michaels whispered as the hapless DI Chappel hurried into the office.

They tried to ignore the shouting that went on for the next half hour. It was a one sided rant. Blonde enough to be albino, skinny to the point of emaciation, Chappel didn't have much in the way of balls. Then again, anyone who wasn't scared of the Guv was either braver than most or just plain stupid. Never in the time she had been working in CID had Marie seen anyone stand up to him. She certainly wasn't going to be the first. She knew from conversations with her friends outside Fenchurch East, that he was regarded as something of a dinosaur, yet there seemed to be a queue of people eager to transfer.

Despite his faults, Gene Hunt looked after his own, and that was more than could be said about many of his peers. First to lead the charge, last to retreat, he made them feel safe.

The shouting had reached a crescendo. Marie winced as she heard Hunt call Chappel a Man United supporting poof. She looked around her, wondering if there was anything she could do. The Guv didn't like to be disturbed when he was doing an important bit of shouting, on the other hand Chappel looked as if he were about to cry. How the man had managed to reach the rank of DI was a bit of a mystery and Hunt did seem to find some kind of perverse pleasure in picking on the weakest member of the team.

"Do you think we should say something?" she asked. "Distract the Guv?"

It was amazing how many of her colleagues suddenly found something more interesting to do.

"Undo a couple of buttons and give him something to look at," Sergeant Michaels grinned at her.

Marie glared at him. Sometimes he seemed to conveniently forget that she was now his superior officer. It was clear, however, from the laughter that his comment provoked, that she was expected to provide the distraction. Bastards. They always gave her the shite jobs. Stealing herself, Marie knocked on the office door and then jumped back quickly as Chappel made his escape.

"What!" Hunt demanded, eyes blazing.

As much as she hated to admit it, there was something almost attractive about the man when he was this angry. She turned her head away, unable to deal with the disturbing thoughts which were running through her mind.

"Just wondered if you wanted some tea, Guv?" the words sounded fake even to her own ears. Marie wasn't surprised when she was forced to skip backwards as Hunt slammed the door in her face. Through the glass she could see him drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. Aware of her scrutiny, he turned his back, leaning both hands on the desk as if attempting to steady himself.

"Do you think he's alright?" she asked.

No one replied. No one seemed to care. She watched him for a little longer, wondering if he was ever going to move. When he finally stood tall, she wasn't surprised to hear him bellow,

"Tea… five sugars! Granger?"

Silence. Marie had no idea who he was talking to. Something almost akin to fear seemed to pass across his face. He seemed haunted. Several silent painful seconds passed before he realised that he'd spoken to someone who wasn't there.

"I'll get it meself, you lazy sods."

Head held high, he marched past them all. His departure was accompanied by barely suppressed amusement. Marie only hesitated a moment before she followed him. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was some kind of misguided form of hero worship but she didn't like to see him as a figure of ridicule. She had the horrible feeling that he realised that his team were laughing at him, but he didn't know what to do about it. His mind was obviously elsewhere, he didn't seem to notice Marie as he piled sugar and whiskey into his tea. She cleared her throat and he looked up.

"Is there anything you need me to do, sir?"

"What I need is for you to buggar off."

The words were spoken without his usual brutish strength. He sounded tired, vulnerable. Keeping her mouth shut had never been one of her strong points. Taking courage from the fact that he didn't say anything, she placed her hand on his arm. The look he gave her was almost enough to send her fleeing for the safety of the ladies toilets but he didn't pull away from her touch.

"It'll be all right, Guv," she said.

"Is this what you want?" he growled, his hand suddenly clutching hers. Deliberate. Not quite painful. Marie twisted in his grasp, not sure if she actually wanted him to let her go. He moved closer, deliberately invading her personal space. Marie felt the breath catch in her throat. She tried to take a step backwards, but found herself trapped against the kitchen counter. What was he doing? She couldn't interpret the expression in his eyes. A swift knee in the groin would have stopped him. A shout, a scream would bring her colleagues running. If it had been anyone else she wouldn't have hesitated but Marie found herself unable to move. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the crush of his hips against hers. Without meaning to, she tilted her head towards his. He laughed.

And then she understood. He was looking at her as if she were a piece of meat… deriding the fact that she had dared to show concern. Marie felt the tears start in her eyes, hating herself for being so weak.

"Go," he hissed. "I am not one of your pathetic girly friends. I am your DCI and you will leave me alone."

She didn't need to be told again. Marie fled.

The encounter had left her shaking. When her phone rang, she found herself fumbling as she picked up the receiver.


	9. Chapter 9

Alexandra Price sat at the top of the stairs, her hands clamped over her ears in her efforts to shut out the sound of the two adults arguing. It reminded her of her mum and dad… of the disagreements late at night when they'd thought she was asleep and beyond hearing. Evan's house was usually so quiet that she hardly dared make a noise and now this woman had arrived and the shouting had begun. Alexandra had recognised her immediately. They had never touched, never spoken but the woman had been there that day... that day when Alexandra's world had ended. She still had nightmares. Evan didn't know and she had no intention of telling him. Almost every night she dreamed that she had still been in the car, that she had been trapped and unable to get out. She dreamed of flames and smoke and dust. Then she'd wake up not daring to cry out in case Evan heard her. As much as she tried, she couldn't block out the terrible noise, the wash of heat…

Peeping out through the banisters, Alexandra could see Evan standing in the hall. The woman had gone, but something about that bothered her. She didn't know why, but she was convinced that Evan shouldn't have sent her away. Weren't you supposed to help people in trouble? That's what they'd told her at school in those bible classes that Evan insisted she attend. The longer she sat there, the more convinced Alexandra became that the woman needed help, but she also told herself that Evan wasn't the right person to go to. But there was someone who could help.

_"Bye little lady. Any problems, you just call the Gene Genie." _

She hugged herself as she remembered. Lost, alone and scared, he had taken her hand and carried her away. When the bad dreams came, he was still her saviour.

Alexandra waited until Evan had gone back into the living room before creeping down the stairs and picking up the telephone. She dialled 999. It was the only way she knew to contact the policeman, but when she asked to speak to the Gene Genie, the man at the other end of the line laughed at her. But Alexandra Price was not a quitter. She tried again and again, her voice breaking with the effort of trying to make someone understand. The tears were streaming down her face by the time she spoke to a woman with a soft Irish accent.

"Don't worry love, I'll tell him. What was your name again?"

"Al…Alexandra Price… tell... tell him to hurry."

She waited by the front door. When Evan appeared and tried to get her to eat her dinner, she point blank refused. Since she had been living with him, Alexandra had been the model of good behaviour. Evan really didn't know how to discipline her and she played on that fact. Eventually he gave up and went away. So she sat there until she heard the roar of an engine, the squeal of brakes… Alexandra leapt up and opened the door. The car outside wasn't the one she remembered. It was black and not red, but she instantly recognised the man getting out of it.

"Gene!" she squealed as she hurtled down the steps and into his arms. She was really too big to be carried now, but he picked her up anyway.

"Mr Hunt?"

Evan had appeared at the open door but Gene ignored him. He set Alexandra down and crouched down in front of her, grasping her hand in his.

"And what can the Gene Genie help you with, little lady?"

She poured out the whole story. Coming home from school to find the woman asleep on the sofa … Evan sending her away … the shouting … the door slamming.

"Can you help her?" she asked.

"'course I can."

He straightened, his attention suddenly focussed on Evan.

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know. I tried to give her some money but she wouldn't take it."

Alexandra thought she heard Gene mutter "Twat." She had the feeling that he was restraining himself from saying anything worse.

"I think she went that way," Alexandra said, pointing down the street, trying to be helpful.

"You said you'd just got back from school?"

"Yes."

"Right, she can't have got far. Don't worry, I'll find her and make sure she's safe."

"Perhaps I could…" Evan began but Gene cut him off.

"I think you've done enough."

Alexandra looked at the two men, trying to work out why they didn't like each other.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Tell you what," Gene replied, "you can come with me and be my lookout. How does that sound?"

She clapped her hands in pure joy. There was nothing she'd rather do than ride with Gene in his cool car.

"You have homework," Evan countered.

"Please?"

Even at the tender age of twelve, Alexandra knew how to twist a man around her finger. He tried to be strict with her and most of the time she obeyed him without question… except when she really, really wanted something. And she wanted this. Taking Evan's hand, she looked up at him, putting her whole soul into her eyes.

"Please, Evan," she repeated.

"An hour… no more," he relented.

Giving a squeal of delight, she let go of Evan's hand and took hold of Gene's.

The car was almost as nice inside as the red one had been. Gene helped her with the seatbelt but didn't bother with his own. She shouted with laughter as he sent the vehicle screeching out into the road. Gene grinned at her and, right at that moment, Alexandra decided that she was going to be a police officer when she grew up.

"So which way should we look?" Gene asked her.

Alexandra considered for a moment. Which way would she go? Not that she was planning on running away, but if she were …

"Towards the river," she decided.

"Right you are little lady."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Alex Drake had been walking for a very long time. Even if she hadn't been wearing stiletto heels, her feet would have been hurting, her legs aching.

It seemed an age since she had been sitting in the warmth of Gene's kitchen. She thought about the breakfast she had refused and realised that she would just about kill for a plate of toast right about now. Hot toast, butter, marmite… But dreaming about food wasn't really helping. Tucking her hands deeply into the pockets of Gene's big coat she slogged onwards, not thinking of much more than putting one foot in front of another. That and the certain knowledge that however far she walked, she would never be any closer to home.

It started to rain.

She felt like crying. In a moment of pure childishness she wanted to howl to the heavens, to scream that this just wasn't fair… but she was no longer sure if anyone was listening. The worst thing was that she knew that she'd been an idiot. It had taken Evan's rejection to make her finally see the truth. He had hurt her. She had never expected him to turn her away… but she wasn't the little girl he had pledged to protect. Neither was she the bright beautiful police officer he had wined and dined at Luigi's. All Evan had seen was a woman who was sick, tired… burnt out. A woman who was a threat to his precious goddaughter. She could only hope that when she finally got back to Gene, he would have the grace to forgive her. There were a lot of things she needed to apologise for.

Without meaning to Alex stopped and sat on a nearby wall, suddenly unable to go any further. She took off her shoes and let them fall onto the rain soaked pavement. She was tempted to leave them where they lay but they were the only ones she had. A cold wind sprung up from nowhere, chilling her to the bone. The coat, heavy with water, was weighing her down. For a moment she considered discarding that as well. It was only the thought of Gene's anger that stopped her. Alex didn't want him to be angry with her, not anymore. More than anything, she wanted to see him. More determined than ever, she put her shoes back on, and started walking again.

London could be a beautiful city, but Alex was slowly but surely losing her love for it. Even when she reached the river, the sight of the familiar landmarks did little to raise her spirits. She trudged along the embankment, her head down, steadfastly ignoring the tourists who seemed to be taking photographs every ten yards. There had been a time when she'd found the sight of them amusing but now they were nothing more than a petty annoyance. She could see Tower Bridge in the distance but, as she got closer, Alex suddenly realised that she had no idea where Gene's house actually was. She'd paid no attention when he'd driven her there. It was just a non-descript house amongst so many others. She couldn't recall the details of the road, the colour of the paint work… nothing. Her only alternative was to go back to Fenchurch East, but Alex was scared of what might happen if she turned herself in. Without Gene, she'd have no protection.

God, how could she have screwed this up so badly? All she wanted to do was wake up but she still had to survive in this place long enough for that to happen. Time flowed differently here. Mere minutes could have passed in the real world whereas her existence here could stretch out to days, weeks… years.

"I just want to go home!"

Standing before the Tower of London, ignoring the people around her, Alex screamed the words to the heavens. Sinking to her knees, she screwed her eyes tight shut; hoping that when she opened them again she'd see a hospital room.

"Is she alright?" a childish voice asked.

"She will be… once I get her home."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's just a bit sad."

"Can you make her happy again?"

"I'm going to try."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Alex looked up. Gene was standing there, little Alexandra's hand clutched in his. Despite the fact that her feet hurt and her limbs felt like jelly, Alex stood to greet him. He didn't try to help her.

"We best get Alexandra back home. I promised Evan I'd have her home an hour ago," was all he said.

It was dark by the time they got back to Gene's house. He opened the door and gestured that she go inside.

"Get them wet things off," he told her. "You'll catch your death."

"Yes Guv," Alex said and made her way up the stairs.

She was under the shower by the time she heard him call.

"Your stuff's in the spare room."

Damn… she had forgotten about the shopping bags in the car. Wrapping herself in a towel, Alex ventured out of the bathroom to thank him but Gene had already gone back downstairs. And there it was, all piled up neatly on the single bed along with a set of clean sheets and a duvet.

Alex took her time getting dressed, not really sure whether Gene wanted to see her any more that night. But before she was finished the house was filled with the scent of something being fried and Alex was once again reminded how hungry she was. As much as she might have wanted to sulk in her room, she couldn't resist the draw of proper food.

They ate sitting on the sofa, the television playing softly in the background. Alex in her pyjamas, Gene with his shirt untucked and his boots off. It almost felt like they'd done this a hundred times before. Gene's culinary skills didn't stretch much beyond sausages and chips but it had to be the best meal Alex had ever eaten.

"What, better than foi gras and biscuits or whatever it was?" Gene questioned when she dared to utter words of praise.

"Better than sex," she grinned, setting down her empty plate on the coffee table.

"You've been shagging the wrong blokes."

"Maybe I have."

The flirtation was automatic, helped no doubt by the glass of wine Gene had poured for her. There was even the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he started to clear the plates away. Alex didn't try to help him. It had been one hell of a day and without meaning to she yawned.

"You should get some kip."

"In a minute," Alex agreed, but somehow she couldn't make herself move. Gene was sat next to her, an old black and white film on the television and a glass of good wine in her hand… it was almost romantic and she wanted to hold onto this moment. Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn't keep her eyes open and it wasn't long before the glass was removed from her hand. Alex offered no words of protest as Gene lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He laid her gently on the bed, pulling the duvet over her. It felt soft and warm and wonderful.

Gene didn't leave immediately. He sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like the longest time. When she felt his hand gently brush a strand of hair from her face, Alex knew that she had to say something.

"You don't have to go."

"Yes I do."

Sitting up, Alex let her hand rest on his cheek, just as she had on that bitterly cold night outside of The Railway Arms. She lent towards him and his kiss was just as soft as she remembered. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for once his face seemed open, vulnerable. Alex only had the impression for the briefest second before he pulled away.

"No offence love, but I don't know where you've been and I don't fancy a dose of the clap."

Alex opened her mouth to snap a retort when she suddenly realised that he was right. Her ravaged veins told their own story. She had no memory of ever shooting up, but that meant she couldn't recall sharing needles, unprotected sex… AIDS, hepatitis, there could be half a dozen diseases in her system.

"You're right," she said. "I didn't think… shit."

"What?"

"I said you're right."

"Blimey."

She buried her face in the pillow. If she got sick here, would that mean her body would fail in the real world? The room was silent and Alex thought he'd left her alone. Freed from his scrutiny, she let her emotions flood out, crying and gasping as she sobbed into the pillow.

"Shit… Bolly… come on… Bolly… Alex!"

She could feel him close again, his hand resting on her shoulder as he attempted to offer some kind of awkward comfort.

"We'll get you down the doctors in the morning," he tried to reassure her.

"I just want to wake up, Gene," she pleaded with him.

"Yeah… yeah… course you do… but you've got to go to sleep first Bolly. Come on love…"

He tucked her back into bed, pulling the blankets around her thin shoulders as if they could protect her from all the madness in this world.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter Fisherman walked along the path next to the canal, wincing as the mud closed over his highly polished shoes. Ice clod drizzle floated through the air, too wet to be snow. He paused under the arch of a bridge to light a cigarette, leaning against the crumbling brickwork as he let the warmth flare for a moment. Traffic rumbled overhead, the sodium glow of the street lights spilling down onto the water.

This wasn't his choice but his counterpart, Nicolas Callahan, had always had a flare for the dramatic; some might say an exaggerated sense of his own importance. A clandestine meeting in a forgotten part of the world … The appeal was obvious but Fisherman would rather have been at home with a good book and a nice cup of tea. He stepped back into the shadows as a crowd of teenagers approached and clattered up the steps and onto the road. The girls in skin tight jeans and stilettos. The boys in sharp suits with makeup on their faces.

Snatches of conversation floated back to him on the night air.

"Any pair of shoes you get are going to make your feet look big ..."

"'C'mon Julie ..."

"I'm such an Octopus ..."

"You would if you loved me…"

"Because you've got big feet so it don't really matter ..."

One couple lingered behind the others, the boy whispering into the girl's ear. At first she shook her head but the boy was persuasive. She would lose her virginity tonight, Fisherman thought sadly. In a back alley somewhere, to a boy she barely even knew.

The muffled tap of heels on old wet leaves interrupted his musings. A clock chimed midnight.

Fisherman straightened up, running his fingers through his damp, grey hair. Callahan was a smooth bastard; bright blonde hair, boyish charm and good looks.

"You're late," Fisherman said.

"I know."

There was no apology. It was almost as if he didn't care. Fisherman lit another cigarette.

"Filthy habit," Callahan said.

"Since when have you been so virtuous?"

Callahan shrugged, unwilling or unable to answer. The two men had known each other for longer than either of them cared to admit.

"Well?" Callahan asked.

"We need to talk about Alex Drake."

Callahan laughed.

"Face facts, Pete, your man made a mistake."

"Let her go."

"Not yet."

"She deserves to go home. What else do you want from her?"

Despite the flashing white teeth, the smile on Callahan's face didn't meet his eyes.

"She represents everything he hates," Callahan said. "She's a tart, a drug addict, a whore."

"She's the only thing he's ever loved."

"And that's why she'll destroy him."

But there was the slightest hesitation in the man's reply. To the untrained ear he would have sounded confident but Fisherman could sense the doubt. Callahan didn't understand, Fisherman thought sadly. He probably never would. Alex Drake had been forced back into this world and dragged down so low that she was barely able to function and yet … This was about Gene Hunt. It always had been.

"The memory loss was a nice touch," Fisherman conceded.

"I thought so."

They both watched as a tramp shuffled along the path, a large dog at his heels.

"Spare some change, mate?"

Fisherman and Callahan both looked the other way. The tramp shrugged and settled down beneath the arch of the bridge, his dog curling itself up at his feet. The animal was probably the only thing that stopped him freezing to death.

A girl approached. Head down, her hands tucked into the pockets of her anorak. A nurse's uniform peaked out below, a pair of sensible shoes on her feet. She was probably on her way home from work. Fisherman didn't know her but he could see that she was tired. Exhausted. And he found himself wondering exactly what she'd seen that night. Life? Death?

"Spare some change, love?"

The girl pushed a ten pound note into the homeless man's hand.

"Pub?" Callahan offered.

Fisherman looked at him.

"Don't be ridiculous."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Alex didn't sleep. Despite the wine, despite the exhaustion, she couldn't force her body to relax. She lay there for what felt like hours, her eyes screwed shut against the darkness, hoping to see some vision from the outside world… but nothing came. In the end she got out of bed and crept down the stairs, hoping that Gene had gone to bed. Sure enough there were no lights on anywhere. Alex ended up in the living room, crouched in front of the television watching the static. She felt awkward about doing this in someone else's house and longed for the solitude of the flat above Luigi's. But Luigi had gone… even in this world nothing stayed the same forever.

_"We almost lost her…"_

_"But she's safe?"_

_"For now."_

Alex's eyes snapped open. Despite everything she had fallen asleep curled up on the floor. The television was still showing static but she had definitely heard voices. She crawled towards the dim light.

"I'm here. I'm still here," she called out. It was a futile gesture. No one could hear her.

_"I don't want Molly to know. I don't want to get her hopes up."_

"Tell her… tell her I'm going to be okay. Tell her I'm coming home…"

_"She's got a long way to go yet. Even if she does wake up we can't guarantee…"_

_"Brain damage?"_

_"We won't be able to asses the extent of the damage until Alex wakes up. She may have to spend a considerable amount of time in physical therapy… she may have difficulties communicating."_

"No… No… I'm fine. I'm fine!"

_"Alex is a fighter…"_

_"Yes she is Mr. White… but even so…"_

But the doctor didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. The room was suddenly flooded with light and Alex looked up to see Gene standing in the doorway, clad in nothing more than his pyjama bottoms and a gold chain…

"What the bloody hell are you doing Alex?" he demanded, his voice heavy with sleep.

He looked dead on his feet.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Then why were you shouting at the sodding TV?"

"I'm sorry."

There was no explanation she could give. Telling him the truth would get her precisely nowhere. In fact he'd probably take her straight to the hospital and leave her there with a straight jacket.

"I couldn't sleep and I was trying to get the video to work."

It was a lame excuse, and judging by the expression on his face, Gene didn't believe her. Even so, he walked across the room and switched on the VCR.

"Just keep the noise down," he said as he shuffled away, dragging a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Drink?" he offered, pausing by the door.

"You don't have to stay."

"'m awake now."

"A drink would be nice."

Gene had two glasses of whiskey in his hands when he returned and he'd put on his dressing gown.

"What are we watching?" he asked.

"Oklahoma!"

"Bloody hell!"

"A skeleton in the closet, Gene?"

"A present from me Mum... she thought it was a western."

Laughing, Alex joined him on the sofa, curling up at one end whilst he sat at the other. He switched off the light, leaving the room bathed in the Technicolor glow of the film.

"I saw this at the National Theatre once… Hugh Jackman."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

She sipped her whiskey, smiling to herself as Gordon McCrae started to sing. Next to her Gene sniffed his disapproval.

"Come over here then," he said, extending his arm and letting Alex slide into his embrace. "If we're going to watch this girly nonsense might as well do it properly."

He looked down at her, hesitating for a second before placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

"Why Mr. Hunt, people will say we're in…"

"Shut it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/

She was asleep. Leaning against him, drooling on his dressing gown. Reaching out for the remote controls, Gene stopped the film and then switched off the television. He looked down at the woman in his arms, wondering how they had ever managed to get to this point. Unable to help himself, Gene brushed a kiss on her hair. She gave a little sigh and a little smile. He had always thought of Alex as a posh bird… too posh for the likes of him. Champagne. Expensive restaurants. Diamond rings. Opera. All the things he could never hope to give her. Yet here she was cuddled up to him after nothing more than a plate of chips and a soppy musical. All those years she'd been within his reach and he'd got it so fucking wrong. Apart from his one pathetic attempt to take her 'somewhere posh' he had failed in fairly spectacular fashion.

A curious sense of peace washed over him. Gene really had no idea why he was doing this. After the shit she had put him through he really should have chucked her out on her arse. The reasons why he hadn't were too much for his sleep deprived brain to cope with right now. Even the thought of carrying her back upstairs was too much for him.

As gently as he could, Gene eased her into a more comfortable position. He placed a cushion under her head and a covered her with a blanket. She mumbled something in her sleep. For a moment he wondered if she was asking him to stay, knowing that he didn't have the strength to deny her a second time. But then she smiled, and turned her face into the cushions. Whatever dreams she was having, they were sweet and he wanted to cuddle up next to her and share them.

Refusing to give into temptation, and the decidedly girly thoughts, Gene snapped off the light and made his way to his own bed.


	11. Chapter 11

When Alex woke up, she was still on the sofa. Gene must have covered her with a blanket at some point, but she couldn't remember watching the end of the film. Her last conscious thought had been one of warmth, of security and then she realised that she must have fallen asleep in Gene's arms. Alex felt her face flush as she wondered whether he had spent the night with her… and if he had, why wasn't he here now?

The man himself appeared soon enough, fully dressed, coat on, boots in place and pulling on his driving gloves.

"Gene?" Alex questioned, puzzled by his appearance. He had his tie on.

"Got to go. Armed blag in progress."

He knew as well as she did that he should have been on leave, and there was no reason why his subordinates couldn't deal with the situation. Alex found herself wondering if he had another reason for wanting to get away from her. But Gene spoke again, reading her mind.

"Bastards have a couple of plod held hostage. Got to be there Bols."

And now she knew. Gene would never wait at home whilst his men were in danger.

"I'll come," she volunteered.

"No."

"I can help."

"Not this time. Don't do anything daft," he shouted over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.

The house suddenly seemed very quiet, very empty without his presence and Alex had no idea what she was going to do for the rest of the day. She hated being left behind… the little woman waiting at home. Gene finally trusted her enough to leave her on her own but it meant nothing if he no had faith in her ability to do her job. Not that she had a job any more. Alex wondered if it wasn't time to give in and admit that she was nothing but a washed out drug addict. No future. No prospects. She had hoped that healing herself in this world would be enough to secure her a path home, but what if it wasn't? What if she was stuck here? Unable to move on, unable to go home. Trapped. She looked about herself, the wave of depression making the house look drab, unwelcoming. Alex was starting to understand why Gene spent so much time at work. Anything was better than being here alone, wandering through the empty rooms. There wasn't much that was personal about this place, she realised. Gene had little in the way of books. Even his record collection was limited to a few battered albums. She smiled when she found a copy of Herb Alpert's "Whipped Cream and Other Delights". Somehow it made her feel a little better.

She took a long bath and tried to luxuriate in the hot water and the bath oil she had chosen for herself … Except that Gene had paid for it. He'd bought her everything that she had asked for and demanded nothing in return. Analysing herself was never pleasant and she was properly ashamed of the way she had treated the man who was trying to be her friend. And maybe more? God but she'd been an ungrateful cow. Dressing herself in the clothes that he had paid for, Alex vowed to herself that she was going to make it up to him… somehow.

Her thoughts were still with Gene as she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Curious, she noticed that the back door was open and wondered if he always left it that way. Somehow it wouldn't surprise her if he did. She took a look outside but there was nothing to see apart from an unkempt lawn and a tangled hedge. She didn't suspect anything until the rough hands grabbed at her… until they yanked her across the floor by her hair. She fought. She screamed. She prayed … but nothing made a difference. Her body was still so weak. They dragged her through to the living room, two of them holding her down. Out of the corner of her eye Alex could see a third man. He was preparing a syringe.

She screamed at the sight of it, only to be silenced by a smack across her mouth. Her head slammed back against the carpeted floor. Alex wanted to continue her struggle but she was stunned from the force of the blow. It was all she could do to stay conscious.

"Careful, don't damage the goods," the man holding the syringe said. He tapped the plastic, making sure any air bubbles were removed. Somewhere at the back of her mind Alex wondered why he was bothering. If his intention was to kill her then air injected in her vein would do the job just as effectively as… as whatever this was.

He came closer and Alex felt something being tightened around her upper arm.

"No… please…"

The prick of a needle, an explosive rush, a moment of bliss and then…

_She woke up in a hospital room. Alex Drake tried to move her head and failed. Her view was restricted to the stark, white ceiling. There was music playing. _

_"Don't, don't you want me? __You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me. __It's much to late to find you think you've changed your mind..."_

_Shit. Still in the 80's. Then the song changed to something she didn't recognise. It was a rapid change. No fast forwarding of a tape or a record jumping tracks._

_"Lay where you're laying, don't make a sound, __I know they're watching, they're watching…"_

_"Gene?" she croaked, wondering if he had come to her rescue once again. _

_"Mummy?" _

_The hand that held hers was small, childlike. _

_"Mummy… Mummy it's me."_

_"Mols?"_

_"In the dark of the alley, the breaking of day…"_

_It was almost too much effort, but somehow Alex managed to move her head. _

_"Molly? Baby?"_

_But her daughter wasn't paying any attention, making Alex wonder whether she'd made any sound at all. There were vague sounds coming from all directions. Alex struggled to identify them. Voices in the corridor outside? The beeping of the machines? Molly shouting for the doctor? She was awash with sensation. She coulfsd feel the roughness of the hospital blanket against her skin, the heat of the over warm room, the moisture of the tear that ran down her cheek. When you can feel, you're alive… who had said that? _

_"Hot as a fever, rattling bones, __I could just taste it…"_

_She was alive. Dear God but she was alive. She wanted to shout, to laugh, to howl at the moon to tell Molly off for listening to a song that wasn't the least bit suitable for a twelve year old … but she couldn't move, couldn't do anything. _

_"Molly?" she tried again. _

_A face appeared above her, shining a light in her eyes. She wanted to ask him what was happening. The fact he hadn't spoken was scaring her. Suddenly she longed for the warmth and peace of that other place… No pain. She could feel herself being drawn back. No she didn't want that. She wanted to live… damn it, she wanted to…_

There was a sharp slap across her face.

"No!"

And another.

"Alex! Come on Alex!"

She moved, trying to escape the stinging blows, batting away his hands.

"Stop that… Now open your eyes! "

It was an order she couldn't refuse. For the moment, his call was stronger than her daughter's. Alex opened her eyes.

"Go away," she mumbled; finding it difficult to speak… her mouth was so dry.

To her surprise, he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly, kissing her hair, her face, her lips.

"You stupid, stupid tart. Ambulance'll be here soon. Can you walk?"

She almost felt certain that she could… right up until the moment when he helped her to her feet. She was barely breathing. Saliva was slipping from her mouth and she couldn't seem to stop it. She felt dizzy, she felt warm, almost content … and then she threw up all over him.

"Shit… Bols?"

"Sorry," Alex murmured as she passed out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

She woke up in the ambulance. Puking her guts up as her body reacted to the naloxone that had been injected into her system. Everything hurt. God it hurt. She felt like she was dying all over again. Except dying of a heroine overdose wouldn't have hurt this much… at least she would have died happy. At least she would have been with Molly.

"Gene…?" she gasped. Where was he? She needed him here… needed to tell him that this wasn't her fault. Did he hate her now? Had he given up?

The paramedic ignored her, seeing nothing but another washed out drug addict. Hardly worth saving. They probably thought she had done this to herself.

Her heart was racing. Her body was drenched with sweat. The nice new clothes she had put on that morning … ruined. Gene would hate that. He would have to go shopping with her all over again. She was helpless, unable to do anything as they wheeled her into the hospital. And she hated it. They dumped her on a bed and left her there. A doctor came and went. He did nothing but look at her before making a few notes on a clipboard. Hours seemed to pass. And then she was handed the address of the nearest rehab centre and released.

Alex didn't know what to do. She went out into the waiting area and sat on one of the hard, orange plastic chairs, not sure where else she could go. She had no money for a taxi. So she just sat there. Since she had been here… since she had come back, everything about this world seemed to have conspired to bring her as low as possible. Gene had once told her that she still had lessons to learn, but she couldn't for the life of her work out what that lesson was supposed to be. She was a good person. Everything she had done here had been with the explicit need to get back to her daughter. What higher purpose could there be? And now… now it didn't look like she was going anywhere. She looked down at her arm, at the place where the needle had entered. The drug had sent her home for a while and she found herself wondering just how much she would have to take to make the change permanent.

"You can't stay there, miss."

She looked up to see a wimpy young security guard standing over her, obviously far too puffed up with his own importance. Alex fixed him with her coldest stare.

"I'm a police officer," she said, "I can stay wherever I bloody well want to."

Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak, muffled. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"Where's your warrant then?" he demanded.

"Listen, you spotty little twerp…"

Alex struggled her feet, making a grab for the man's shirt only to miss and find herself in a heap on the floor. The young man looked down at her with disgust on his face.

"I'm going to call the police."

"I am the police you fucking idiot!"

"Leave the lady alone!"

And there was Gene, her scowling, black coated saviour once again. One glare from him and the guard scuttled away without protest. After helping Alex back into her chair, Gene plonked himself down in the seat next to her.

"Sorry I'm late, Bols, had to call forensics in and send someone to arrest your ex-landlord. You all right?"

"I… I think so… "

She couldn't work out why his attitude had changed so suddenly. The confusion must have shown on her face because Gene took her hand to help her stand and then led her into the Ladies toilets. Once she was in front of the mirror she could see the livid bruise on her face. Four fingers and a thumb were clearly visible. Gene stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"Not even you can smack yourself in the gob, Bols… at least not that hard."

Alex would have laughed but it hurt too much. She turned to him,

"Sometimes Gene Hunt I …"

He placed a finger on her lips, cutting off her words.

"Don't say it… not yet. Not until we've cleared this mess up. "

Alex nodded. She hadn't realised how much his belief, his faith actually meant to her. With a quick motion, she wiped the tears from her eyes and managed to smile back at him. Gene nodded his approval.

"Good girl… Now c'mon we've got scum to catch."

But even as she accepted his hug, Alex couldn't help thinking that maybe, finally, she had found a way out of here.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lyrics to 'Don't You Want Me' by Phil Oakey, Jo Callis and Philip Adrian Wright

Lyrics to 'Sex On Fire' by Kings of Leon


	12. Chapter 12

The landlord of the hotel had to be the most disgusting little man that Marie had ever had the misfortune to meet. It had already been one hell of a day. They'd been so fired up with adrenalin after the successful rescue of their team mates that when the Guv had said jump she and Chappel had… without even thinking about it. It was all Marie could do to keep her lunch in her stomach as she and Chappel bundled the suspect into the back of the car. He screamed like a girl but most of what he said was unintelligible. She honestly didn't know what the Guv was hoping to achieve from this arrest. It seemed like a knee jerk reaction, as if he was striking out randomly at anybody or anyone who might have had the vaguest connection to what had happened to Alex Drake. They weren't even in possession of any facts. Looking at the way the man was whimpering in the back seat, Marie actually felt a bit sorry for him. She wasn't certain that the Guv's instincts could be trusted where Drake was concerned. There certainly wasn't anything remotely threatening about a man who seemed to be on the verge of pissing himself. He was muttering to himself in the back seat, his words unintelligible, pulling at his hair as nervous sweat ran down his greasy face.

"This is crazy," Marie muttered.

"You want to explain that to the Guv?" Chappel said.

"No."

"So?"

"Is that really what it's all about? We just keep quiet and do what he says?"

Chappel ignored her as he swung the car into a parking space outside of the station. Two seconds later and Hunt's Mercedes screeched into the car park behind them. Marie felt herself tense at the sight of it; her last encounter with her boss was still fresh in her mind. But this time he wasn't alone. A woman climbed out of the car and stood beside him. Tall, beautiful, her long dark hair was swept back from her face and tied in an elegant bun. Even though her clothes consisted of nothing more than jeans and a jumper, she wore them with such confidence that Marie felt tatty and messy in her crumpled suit. It took her all of thirty seconds to realise that the woman was Alex Drake. But she didn't have much time to complete the comparison, as soon as he recognised Hunt, the suspect tried to run. Not that he was able to get very far. Chappel chased him down without difficulty before presenting the man to Hunt like a dog with a particularly large stick. Hunt slammed his fist into the little man's stomach. Drake stepped up immediately, laying her hand on Hunt's arm,

"Guv," she murmured.

He seemed to gentle under her touch, only aiming a half hearted kick at the suspect before letting Chappel drag the man away. Marie followed, not wanting to be in Hunt's presence any longer than she absolutely had to. That was the other thing. Yesterday, he had been a complete arsehole, but the effect he'd had on her was quite uncanny. In those few moments, when he had been standing so close, Marie knew she would have done anything he'd asked.

Chappel took the suspect down to the cells whilst Marie lingered by the desk with Michaels. She was still standing there when Hunt and Drake swept past, their steps in almost perfect unison.

"Does the Guv seem okay to you?" Marie asked.

"Apart from the fact he's shagging the prossie?" Michaels replied.

"No… I mean yes… shagging her is one thing, but bringing her into the office?"

"Maybe she's just here to give a statement?"

Marie swore to herself. She'd forgotten the reason they'd made the arrest in the first place. The poor woman had been attacked in the Guv's home.

"You're right … you're right … sorry."

And she would have walked away if Michaels hadn't added,

"If you're that worried call the rubber heelers in."

She considered it for a few moments. She had no evidence, not really. And if she did make a complaint there was a chance she'd just sound like a jealous bitch.

"I don't think so," Marie said.

"Well let me know if you change your mind. A mate of mine works for D and C. I know he'd be happy to help. He could look into what happened to the Drake bird too."

She hesitated. There were many things about Alex Drake that didn't add up. A week ago she had been a helpless drug addict and now she obviously had the Guv's ear… and probably other parts of him as well. No one knew what had happened after she had walked out on Hunt back in 1983. It would make sense to check her out, wouldn't it?

"Okay," Marie said quickly. "Ask him for any information he might have about Alex Drake…"

She didn't have time to change her mind. D and C responded more rapidly than Marie could have imagined. Barely an hour later and she found a file on her desk adorned with yellow post-it note. On it was scrawled a phone number and a name… James Keats.

Marie took the file into one of the interview rooms. She read it three times and even then she had no idea how she was going explain the contents to the Guv. He had to know. There was no doubt in her mind about that. For all their sakes, he had to know what had happened to Alex Drake.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Let me talk to him."

"No."

"Please."

"Unless it escaped your notice, Lady Bolls, someone tried to kill you today!"

"I know… I know… but we've got to do this the right way, Gene."

She'd been back in the station for ten minutes and she was already picking a fight. Gene lent back in his chair, watching with a certain amount of pleasure as Alex paced the floor of his office. He'd missed this … her … more than he would ever admit. And yet he was still reluctant to send her in to talk to the suspect. Technically she wasn't a police officer anymore but that was the least of his worries. She'd scared the shit out of him today. He couldn't even remember why he'd gone home but finding her passed out like that… for a second he could have sworn that his own heart stopped beating. He'd naturally assumed the worst. It was only once the ambulance crew had taken her away that his brain had started working again.

The back door had been open, the lock damaged. He found the discarded syringe under the sofa and then he realised that the tourniquet had been tied around her right arm and not her left. As he remembered the bruising on her face Gene's first instinct had been to rush after the ambulance, but he also knew that Alex would be pissed if he didn't do all he could to find out who had hurt her. So he'd done his job first before going after her. Now he was wondering if he hadn't got things arse about face.

She sat on the edge of his desk, leaning forward. It had to be force of habit. The jumper she was wearing effectively prevented him from getting a view of her tits. Not that she had as much of them as before. He'd guess that she was a B cup now.

"I could wear a wire. You'd be able to hear everything."

Gene looked away, directing his attention to the outer office. The place looked busy for once; the only person missing was O'Neill. Strange. She was usually the only one doing any work. She might be a bit of a dozy plonk, but she was the best he had.

"Please," Alex said.

The bloody woman was actually fluttering her eyelashes at him. Gene sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Tomorrow. We'll leave him in the cell overnight… soften him up a bit."

She looked at him, her face grave.

"As long as you're not the one doing the softening."

"Give over woman."

"Gene I'm serious."

He glanced out into the office again. O'Neill was back. She was staring at them. Gene immediately looked away and back at Alex. His voice was soft when he spoke again, low enough that only she could hear. He touched her hand, letting their fingers twine.

"So am I, love."

To his surprise, Alex nodded. He'd expected her to put up more of a fight. Usually being almost killed wasn't enough to shut her up for an extended period of time.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yes… just a bit of a headache. Or it might be withdrawal. Sometimes happens when an addict's treated for an overdose."

She offered him a tired smile. Somehow her admitting the fact wasn't helping his state of mind. Neither was the thought of another night spent watching her puke. Right now even going home didn't seem like a welcoming prospect. Not until he'd caught the scum who were responsible for almost killing her. He already had a couple of plod stationed outside the house… just in case.

"Right… let's get you out of here," he announced, helping her up.

Even with the door shut, Gene heard the murmur of surprise that went round the outer office. It took him a moment to realise that he was still holding Alex's hand.

Shit.

He let go and covered the gesture by opening the door so that he could usher her out of his office. Gene knew how this looked. He was aware of the gossip that had been circulating ever since he had released her from the cells and taken her home. A lesser man might have cared, but Gene didn't.

"Guv…," O'Neill's voice called out as he strode past her desk.

So close.

"What?"

She leapt up from her chair and proceeded to wave a file in his face.

"I really think you need to see this, sir."

"Alright. Keep your lipstick on."

Dear God what he wouldn't give for a night off with a beer and the footie? Sod it. He snatched the file from O'Neill.

"Fine, I'll read it at home."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir."

O'Neill glanced over at Alex and then made some unfathomable female pointing type gesture. Alex, Gene realised, wasn't paying much attention. Her gaze had been drawn to her old desk. She seemed fascinated by some numbers that had been carved into the surface; her fingers tracing their outline. The two of them were as daft as each other, Gene realised. What was a bloke supposed to do? He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't earn him a slap.

"I will read it at home," he repeated in a tone that left little room for argument. Unfortunately, O'Neill didn't seem to know when to shut up.

"It concerns DI Drake, sir," she hissed

Alex looked up, her gaze fixed on him.

"It's late. I am going home. I am taking this file and the former DI Drake with me. If you have a problem then I suggest you take it to the super. I can't be arsed. Goodnight."

He grabbed Alex's arm and started out of the building. Hurrying her through the corridors and out to his car before anyone else could shove another useless piece of paper under his nose.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Don't know. Don't care," he replied.

And that was it. End of.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Alex didn't want to go back to Gene's house. Even with his assured presence, and the officers stationed outside, she didn't feel safe. For some reason, Alex couldn't dispel the depression settling around her. Whether it was frustration with Gene, her separation from Molly or the feeling that she was so close to going home it was impossible to tell. Gene, however, seemed immune to her fears. As soon as they got through the door he muttered something about needing a shower and disappeared upstairs. True, it was late, he was tired, but Alex could have done with a little TLC. As long as she wasn't actually crying he seemed to think that she could cope with anything … and she couldn't. At least not tonight.

She waited for a while before realising that he wasn't about to make another appearance. Tired and lonely, Alex realised that she had little choice but to take herself to bed. She changed into the pyjamas Gene had lent her. Somehow they were more comfortable than the new ones she had bought. They'd been washed, she realised. She could smell the fabric conditioner. The house was dark silent, but there was still a light burning in Gene's room. Unable to stop herself, Alex pushed open the door… just to say goodnight.

Gene was fast asleep, sprawled on his front, still fully dressed. Exhaustion had claimed him before he'd managed to get as far as the shower. He didn't look comfortable. His face was squashed against the file that he'd brought home from they station. Alex sat herself on the edge of the bed with the intention of removing the file on making him more comfortable but Gene, it appeared, had other ideas. Even in the depths of his slumber, he seemed to realise that she was there. With the soft murmur of her name he rolled over, catching her by the waist and dragging her into his embrace. Alex lay as still as she could, but he showed no sign of waking. She smiled to herself. Who would have thought it? Gene Hunt, sleeping like a child with his head on her stomach. It was almost as if he was now the one in need of comfort.

Hesitantly, Alex touched his hair, letting the strands run through her fingers. It was softer than she'd expected. She could see the strands of grey peppering the gold. He moved; nuzzling against her and this suddenly felt too intimate, as if she were taking advantage of him. Alex froze.

"Don't stop… nice."

He looked up at her, still sleepy, his eyes half-open.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Alex said.

"If I could wake up like this every day I'd be a happy man," he smiled. "Has your headache gone?"

"Yes."

"Good."

As he met her eyes, his hand slipped under her pyjama top.

"I thought… I mean what about…?"

Gene didn't reply immediately. He seemed more interested in finding the soft flesh of her belly and peppering it with tiny kisses. Alex felt herself squirm, her hips rising of their own accord as his fingers dipped lower.

"Condoms, top drawer," he mumbled, intent on what he was doing.

Fumbling, Alex managed to open the drawer and pull out a foil wrapped packet. She hesitated.

"These are out of date."

"What?"

Gene snatched it from her, checking the date himself before hurling the inoffensive article away. He rolled to one side, breathing heavily.

"How long has it been since you let a woman in here?"

"Too fucking long!"

"Gene…"

"Quiet… I'm imagining Ray Carling with Maggie Thatcher… usually does the trick."

"I could…"

She reached for him, but Gene gently removed her hand.

"No. Not like that. Not with you."

And then he was gone. Two minutes later Alex heard the sound of water splashing in what she could only assume was a very cold shower. She flopped back on the bed trying. Needing something to take her mind off the intimate ache between her thighs she reached for the file which had fallen on the floor. It had her name on the front.

She flipped through the papers. Each sickening page. She felt nothing but disgust, for herself and for whoever had written the damning words. She wanted to tear it to pieces, burn it, find some way to make sure that Gene never read it. But could she do that? Hiding things from him never worked. He always discovered the truth eventually. Alex didn't even know what the truth was. She was starting to doubt her own memories, especially now that the evidence was presented in black and white. Surely this was more believable than a trip to the "pub"?

Alex's first instinct was to flee. To run so far away that no one would ever find her but before she could even get off the bed the door to the room opened and Gene returned. Hair damp, towel wrapped round his waist, he looked slightly annoyed to find that she was still in his bedroom.

"Go to bed Bolly," he said. "Please just…."

She shook her head and handed him the file.

"You really need to look at this."


	13. Chapter 13

The shower didn't help. If anything it just added to his frustration. Gene knew that he shouldn't even be considering shagging Alex without a condom but just for that moment he had wanted her so badly. Waking up to her tender caress had tipped him over the edge. There had been little gentleness in his life. Not that he'd had a bad childhood. Not really. There had always been a roof over his head and food in his stomach… most of the time. His Dad had been a bit of a bastard but that had been par for the course. A smack around the head before dinner, a shove into a brick wall on the way to school, a belt on bare legs … Funny how you got used to it after a while. You did something wrong and you got a slap. That was just how it was. Gene had never known any different. And then someone like Alex came along. She'd been through hell but she still wanted to help him, to comfort him.

He didn't want to read the report. Gene Hunt wasn't a coward but he was tired and actually wanted to go to bed. Alex, however, wasn't likely to give him much choice in the matter. Reluctantly, Gene picked up the file but the first page was enough to convince him that, in this case, his continued ignorance would have been bliss.

"Transfer? To D and C?"

She nodded. It was a kick in the gut. He was suddenly assaulted with images of Alex with someone else. With Jim Keats. Sweaty bodies. A tangle of naked limbs.

The very thought made his stomach roil. Had she shagged the bastard? He had to know.

"Why would you do that Alex? Why go to him?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"Bollocks."

Suddenly, he was sick of this. Sick of her. The excuses. Not knowing. Had she any idea what she was putting him through?

"Then try or I swear to God I'll … !"

"You'll what? Punch me? Shoot me? "

"You can't give me an explanation!"

"Because I haven't got one!"

"I think you do. I think you're lying to me! Last I checked heroin doesn't cause memory loss or hallucinations. So what else were you taking? Who else were you shagging? Keats? Tell me Alex!"

"No!"

Alex's face crumpled and she pressed her hand to her forehead. He could tell she was in pain but couldn't stop the bitter words spilling out of his mouth.

"Headache back is it? How convenient!"

"Could you please stop being an arsehole long enough to get me some aspirin?"

Her face had gone a rather peculiar shade of grey. Gene took a deep breath, knowing that he was about as close to hitting her as he'd ever been. And then he remembered the time when he had; when she'd been lying in that hospital bed and he'd been so desperate for her to wake up. Never again. He'd told himself that over and over and yet here he was, ready to smack her. It was definitely time to step away.

"Stay right there," he told her.

Pulling on his dressing gown he marched down to the kitchen, taking the file with him. It wasn't just the aspirin. Gene knew there was a bottle of whiskey waiting there and he intended to make a significant dent in its contents. He leafed through the rest of report while he was there trying to find something, anything that would give him a clue. Page after page of it. Jim Keats had clearly taken a great deal of pleasure in detailing Alex's decline. Her first assignment with D+C had been an undercover operation, flushing out dirty coppers in London's underworld. Gene could see how that would have appealed to Alex. She had been so passionate about honesty, about truth; a one woman crusade against corruption. But her high and mighty words, her ideals hadn't been enough to protect her.

First there had been the drug use. Necessary, she'd said, to maintain her cover. Then there had been the money. According to Keats she'd demanded more and more of it. Every penny vital … or so she told him and the daft git had paid it. Somehow that made Gene angrier. Keats must have known what she was getting into and yet he had been the one feeding her habit. He should have pulled her out of there but it was almost as if he had wanted her to fail.

And then there had been the sex. When the money had run out she had turned to other methods of payment. According to Keats there had been a different bloke every night. Sometimes more than one. Gene felt sick. She had turned him down enough times why the hell was she shagging random strangers? Or maybe that was how she had always got her kicks? Gene pushed the file away, lighting up as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. He remembered the soft skin that had oh so recently been beneath his lips, the little moans of pleasure and approval. Looking down at the file again he was filled with the certainty that the person described here wasn't his Bolly. It was almost as if she'd become some other person.

For once in her life it seemed as if Alex had followed his orders. She was still sitting on the bed when he walked back into the room. She took the pills and the water from him, swallowing them down with a grimace.

"Why didn't you come to me when things started to go tits up?" he asked. "We could have sorted something out."

She just shrugged. He could feel her withdrawing from him, both physically and mentally. Even though he knew that she was almost his height, she suddenly looked tiny, almost frail. The oversized pyjamas didn't help.

"There could be another explanation," Alex ventured, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"Dissociative fugue."

"What?"

"Reversible amnesia for personal identity. It can be precipitated by a stressful episode."

Gene still had no idea what she was talking about but he wasn't going to let her know that.

"And this would explain why you went around shooting up and shagging every bloke who'd pay for it?" he said.

"I don't know I … The symptoms seem to fit. A fugue state sometimes results in the creation of a whole new identity. Maybe that's what I did?"

"Alex Drake … superslag?"

"If you like."

He gave a humourless laugh. It was all too easy. Too convenient. And yet he wanted to believe it. He wanted some reason for this.

"And what stressful episode did you experience? Break a nail, did we? Hair not quite right?"

She turned her face away from him.

"I think it might have been something to do with my daughter."

Oh. Shit. Her daughter. He'd harboured a vague guilt ever since he'd accused her of being a cold heartless bitch. Perhaps this was his fault? Perhaps he had been the one to push her over the edge? Gene's thoughts returned to those last weeks and months, when they'd barely seemed to know each other anymore. The flirting, the long evenings at Luigi's, the shared jokes and smiles … all that had stopped. He'd been fighting for his life and Alex had been close to hating him. Was it any wonder that she had gone running to that wanker?

And he hadn't even had the fucking courage to apologise for shooting her in the gut. Not really. He might have mumbled the words, made excuses but he'd never actually shown her how sorry he'd been, for shooting her … for slapping her… for everything. Even if she was lying to him now … but he didn't think so. Gene wasn't sure that she was making any kind of sense but she believed it. This time shouldn't he give her the benefit of the doubt?

"What happened to your daughter? What happened to …" he paused, searching his memory for the little girl's name. Had Alex ever mentioned it? Something stirred in his memory. They'd been standing outside a pub. Alex had been clutching a scarf. He couldn't recall anything else. Funny thing was he had the feeling that had been after she'd buggared off with Keats. The memory was elusive, slipping away as quickly as it had flashed through his mind.

"What happened to Molly?" he asked, finding the name at last.

"I think … I think I realised that I was never going to see her again ... that I was never going home. Do you know what that feels like, Gene?"

And suddenly she was accusing him, her voice rising in pain and anger. At least this time he could answer her with a certain amount of honesty.

"I know, Alex. Believe me."

Home, Manchester … Gene had walked away knowing that he could never go back. Some might have said that he had run away but he preferred to call it a strategic withdrawal.

"Gene, please. I know it's mad. I know this makes no sense. All I'm asking you to do is to trust me. Forget what that file says. It wasn't me."

"Then who was it? This other personality you created for yourself?"

"Exactly."

She had a tentative smile on her face … It was almost as if she thought he understood. Whatever merry dance she was leading, he was always going to be one step behind. Aside from dragging her back to the station and submitting her to a more rigorous form of interrogation he wasn't sure what else he could do. And he thought about it. He really did. But he could see how tired she was and how much telling him all this had cost her. His gut instinct told him that the last thing she wanted was to end up back in that shitty hotel room. Her defensive posture still hinted at the fact that she was scared of what he might do. Scared of him. He didn't want that… never had but every instinct he possessed was screaming at him. There was something he was missing here, something important and he was buggared if he could remember what it was.

He was tired, that was the problem. Tired and too old for this shit. Gene let his head fall into his hands, massaging his temples. Perhaps this headache thing Alex had was catching. A tentative hand stroked his hair.

"We're not going to solve this tonight," she said.

Gene leaned into her touch. She was probably right. She usually was.

"Whatever happened to me Gene, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere … at least not yet," she said, pressing her lips to his forehead before letting her hand drop.

Alex started out of the room but, for reasons he didn't even want to think about Gene put out a hand to stop her.

"No, c'mon Bols stay here with me."

"Why?"

"Er … It'll be warmer?"

Even to his own ears it was a fairly pathetic excuse but Alex nodded, seemingly too tired to argue anymore.

He allowed her to slip under the sheets first, letting her pick her side. Then they just lay there, on their backs staring at the ceiling… like Eric and Ernie. Gene didn't know what to do. Touching her, taking her in his arms seemed wrong somehow. The bedside light was still on but unless he did something that might be considered completely inappropriate, it was up to her to switch it off.

"Heaven," she whispered, breaking the silence, "I dreamt … I dreamt that I was in heaven."

"Oh bloody hell," he swore, but it was in exasperation rather than real anger. Bolly was having another one of her turns. At least he felt like he was back on familiar territory. She propped herself up on one elbow, watching him intently.

"Do you want to know something else, Gene?"

"What Bolls?"

"The last thing I really remember from before is that you kissed me."

"I did?"

"You kissed me and then I went to heaven."

Gene couldn't stop the grin forming on his face. It seemed years since he'd last had a reason to smile. He gently pushed Alex onto her back,

"Finally… something I can believe."

He kissed her softly before reaching over and flicking off the light. The blanket of darkness was comforting somehow. Gene curled himself around Alex, daring to do what he hadn't whilst the light was on.

"Alex?"

"Mmm?"

"Anywhere you might have to go … I'd go with you. You'd only have to ask."

She cuddled into his embrace.

"I wish that you could, Gene," she said, "I really wish that you could."


	14. Chapter 14

Alex didn't sleep for long. Her body, still stuck in overdose hell, wouldn't let her rest without drenching her in sweat. She glanced at the clock, realising that barely an hour had passed. Gene was sleeping like the dead, but despite his comforting presence her brief slumber hadn't been free of nightmares. The images were fading with the dawn but she could still feel the intensity. Helplessness. Trapped in nothingness, wanting to move, to scream.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Seeing that damned file had knocked the fight out of her. History seemed to be repeating itself. Martin Summers, Jim Keats … both men had tried their damnedest to isolate her from her colleagues … from Gene. Alex was certain that someone here was playing the same games, manipulating her.

Instinctively, she moved closer to the warm body sharing the bed. The movement disturbed him and Gene opened his eyes.

"What's the matter with you?" he mumbled.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"You're lying to me again Bolls."

She sighed.

"I was just… just wondering where that file came from."

"The plonk. O'Neill."

"Detective Constable O'Neill," Alex corrected. "No, I meant who gave it to her?"

"Dunno… do we have to talk about this now?"

"No, no… sorry."

Alex tried to concentrate on the steady beat of his heart, willing it to lull her back to sleep.

"Funny though," he said after a moment.

"What is?"

"It turned up when it did. I searched for months and never found a bloody thing."

"And on the same day that someone tried to kill me."

For some reason he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was an absent gesture, almost as if it were something he'd done a hundred times before. He started to stroke her hair.

"That an' all," he said. "Someone's got it in for you Bolly."

"I survived so they try something else? Why not just put a bullet in my head? It doesn't make sense. None of it does. Why bring me back?" she demanded, her voice rising. "God why am I here, Gene?"

"You're here because I need you to be. End of."

She looked at him. Sleepy, blonde hair messed over his forehead, handsome in a way that Alex didn't want to admit. This was his world. She knew that, so there was a distinct possibility that he was right.

"Maybe that's it," she said.

"What?"

"They're using me to get to you. I'm a distraction. You're so busy looking after me that…"

"No."

"No?"

"You are not using me as an excuse to bugger off again."

"I wasn't thinking…"

"Yes you were."

The bed shifted as he clambered out of it.

"Then what are we supposed to do Gene?"

He paused at the bedroom door, looking back at her.

"We find another way."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Marie knew that something was wrong as soon as Gene Hunt burst through the doors. Alone. He was alone again. She felt her guts twist with guilt. Without meaning to, she found herself going through the routine of making his tea; two teabags, five sugars, Manchester City mug. She carried it through.

"Mr. Rogers … the hotel man … we had to let him go," she said as she placed the mug on the desk.

Hunt raised his head and Marie was suddenly struck by how blue his eyes were. She hadn't noticed before. Why was that?

"Why?" he asked.

"Not enough evidence. No evidence actually…"

He nodded. She had expected anger, frustration, violence. His calm acceptance frightened her.

"Where's Alex?" she ventured.

"Buggared off. You might want to tell your little friend."

"What?"

He dragged his hand across his eyes.

"Don't play games with me, sweetheart. I don't know where you got that file and I don't give a shit why you did it. The fact is you betrayed me and you betrayed my team."

"I didn't, I…"

Hunt slammed his whiskey glass down on his desk with enough force to scatter crystals of glass in all directions. The liquid pooled on the desk.

"You got what you wanted, O'Neill. I hope you're fucking happy about it."

Marie had just about had enough of this shit. Why was it her fault? She had tried to do the right thing but that meant nothing to her boss. But she couldn't … she wouldn't weep in front of the bastard.

"Is that all, sir?" she said.

"Piss off then. Go and have a cry in the bogs and when you're done you can clear your desk."

She hated to prove Hunt right but Marie walked straight from his office to the ladies toilets but even there, in privacy, she couldn't make herself give in to tears. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She considered going to see the Super, well within her rights to make an official complaint. But everyone knew that Fisherman was a daft old bugger with a tea fixation and little appreciation of what actually happened in his station. Her word against Hunt's? She would get no sympathy there. It was still a male dominated world.

Then something flashed through her mind.

A picture.

She was driving along a road, other cars speeding past as she struggled to stay within the seventy limit. Ahead of her was a city she only barely recognised, dominated by a shard of glass that spun itself into the sky. Her breath hissed in her throat as a lorry got a little bit too close…

Marie doused her face with cold water. She didn't need this. Not now.

Straightening, she wiped the traces of mascara and eye liner from her eyes. There was a phone number on her desk; the one Michaels had given her with the file. It was time to give James Keats a call.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Another way. Easier said than done, Gene."

Alex let herself into the hotel room, noting as she did so that someone had repaired the door. The place was even more depressing than she remembered. Just being here made her feel dirty. She sat down on the bed, wondering if she dare lie down. There was no telling how long she might have to wait. Alex wrapped her coat a little more tightly about her body, attempting to ward off the damp chill that was seeping into her bones. It had another purpose, of course. The thick black wool also served to hide the wire she was wearing and disguise the bulge of the weapon holstered at the small of her back.

Gene hadn't wanted this. It had taken Alex the most of the night and three bacon sandwiches to convince him that he needed to let her go. She couldn't blame him really. The last time he had left her alone someone had tried to kill her. Except they hadn't. And that was the key. They didn't want her dead and she had to hope that whoever found her here still felt the same way.

An hour passed, then another. Her head was starting to hurt again so Alex lay down on her side, her face turned towards the door. She didn't say anything, even though the temptation was strong. Gene might not have been able to reply but it would have been good to speak a few words. Just in case. The bed was bare; nothing more than a mattress stained with God only knew what. Instinctively, Alex's hand slipped beneath it, working its way into a hole in the material. Her fingers made contact with a small plastic bag. She pulled it free. It was the one place that Gene had never thought to look.

How much would it take to send her home she wondered? Alex liked to think that the question was hypothetical, but it wasn't. The nearest she had been was when the overdose had flowed through her veins. She had been so close… so close.

The door opened.

"I've been expecting you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her head hurt so much.

He sat down beside her.

"Alex," he said.

Hot fingers rested on her cheek.

"Look at me, Alex."

She did as he requested. She couldn't help herself. At his touch her will crumbled, faded away. He filled her awareness. There was nothing else.

"I was right, wasn't I? You've seen her."

"Molly," Alex whispered.

"You didn't die, Alex."

"I know ..."

"He lied to you."

"No …"

"He's been here too long. We both know that."

"He loves me," she said, even though Gene could hear every word. He'd hate her for saying it; deny the words with his dying breath.

"Surely you can't be that naïve? The love of Gene Hunt's life? I don't think so. There have been others, Alex, so many others."

His voice was hypnotic as he stroked her cheek. So much so that Alex almost believed him. Almost.

"I'm going to help you, Alex."

Jim Keats kissed her just once, softly, on the mouth. And then she believed him.


End file.
